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"Good throw lassie!"

The Demoman shouted his approval as I hit the designated target for the fifth time in a row. Unlike with Soldier, training with Demo didn't involve aiming with guns. The small grenades didn't have any firing mechanism, and required me simply to throw them with as much strength as I could muster at my enemy. Fortunately for me, I had a good throwing arm.

"Thanks, I learned how to throw in Cricket," I told him, shielding my eyes from the debris unearthed by the small explosions. Even though they still delivered considerable damage, my grenades didn't have nearly the same amount of destructive power that the Demo's had. In fact, five of mine just barely caused the same degree of explosion as one of his did. Though that being said, chucking them at an advancing Red probably wasn't their main function. They were most effective, we'd found out, buried underground like mines. Sure, they wouldn't blow a person to kingdom come, but they'd take his foot off quite nicely.

"Well, you're putting it to good use now," he said. He scratched his head beneath his hat and took another swig from the rum. He had been drinking consistently since we'd started training at nine that morning. It was two in the afternoon now and he was still emptying bottles like there was no tomorrow. He finished them off so fast I had near started to believe he was drinking water. How could someone possibly ingest so much alcohol and remain comprehensive? He could even obliterate a target on the other side of the training arena, and he only had one eye! I couldn't even aim a gun fully sober, much less under the effects of such heavy drinking and visual impairment. But they didn't seem to bother the Demo at all, and it was with great ease that he raised his grenade launcher and lazily destroyed the last target to end our training session. "I think that's enough for today, don't you?" he asked.

"Yeah," I agreed, "I can't really think of any other way to use them anyway." We had exhausted each and every possible use for the pellets, but at the end of the day, there just wasn't all that much to practice on. There were only so many things you could do with minimal-damage weaponry, and we'd explored them all. Now I was just tired and hungry and desperate to get out of the sun. The day had started out overcast, so I'd worn the zip up from yesterday over my shirt during morning training with the Soldier. I'd been fine until the sun had risen properly and pushed the shade of the clouds away. Then I just started feeling really hot. "So we're done for the day?" I asked hopefully.

"Aye lass, I'd say we are."

I realised as I walked through the base, that I had no idea what to do to occupy my time. Up until now, all my training sessions had kept me busy up until an hour or two before dinner. I didn't even know where the Scout was; he wasn't in our room when I got there. I hadn't really expected him to be, he wasn't the type to sit around all day doing nothing. So for a lack of better option, I decided to hit the showers. Besides, hot days and training didn't mix very well for my over-clothed body. It was a relief feeling the cold water beating down on my skin, and I took my time under the cooling spray. I was almost sad when I had to dry myself off.

"Fuck." I mentally kicked myself in the shins; I'd forgotten to bring clothes with me. The Scout had an extra pair of boxer shorts in his locker, and I still had my bra, but the rest of the clothes I'd sent down the laundry chute. "God bloody damn it," I swore, pulling on the few clothes I had and peering out the door into the corridor. There seemed, at least, not to be anybody in sight anywhere nearby, so I made a mad dash to my room, frantically looking this way and that in case somebody appeared. I relaxed only when I was safely in my room, away from prying eyes. The crate, that damn thing, was still there, and I nearly crashed right into it when I scrambled into the room. I nearly just avoided getting jabbed in my side by its sharp edge, and made a mental note to either get Heavy to take it away, or get Scout to help me push it out into the hallway. Neither of us were particularly beefy, but maybe with our combined strength, we'd manage to move it. But first, I needed to find the boy.

I searched around. There wasn't much I could tell from the mess, but unless the floor had eaten them, his running shoes were absent. He was probably out training then. I could put on some clothes and look for him, but maybe grab a bite to eat on the way first. They had replaced the damaged stove and repainted the burnt areas where the Pyro had gone berserk with his flamethrower. Apparently he'd grown impatient with the slow cooking of the eggs and unleashed his fury on our breakfast. Completely normal, Scout had said, happens all the time. And that made me feel just fine and dandy, because if our Pyro had no control over his desire to see things burn, then I couldn't imagine how happy the enemy's Pyro would be to set me aflame.

Speaking of flame.

The flare gun was lying on the floor beside a pair of bunched up socks. I'd put it on the desk the night before, along with all my other weapons. Scout must've accidentally knocked it over while he was changing that morning. This time, I was cautious when handling the gun. I figured I might not always be so lucky and end up burning a hole through myself before even setting foot on the battlefield. As I put it back in its place, my eyes roamed over to the pocket watch. I'd left it in its box and forgot to tell Scout about it, but now I undid the clasp and traced my fingers over the gold. I hesitated when I drifted over the lambs. They had nagged at me all day. Why lambs and palm fronds? It seemed an odd choice of décor that didn't seem to have any purpose. Then that morning, as I was about to toss a handful of pellets at a target, I'd remembered something I'd been thought long ago. The lamb and palm fronds were symbols of sacrifice; the Pomegranates of trial and suffering. They were three metaphoric objects that often appeared together, so I was reluctant to dismiss it as a coincidence. But even so, I could still not see how the 'D' tied in with it all. I didn't even know what 'D' stood for. Perhaps the Spy would know, if he could take time out of his schedule of infuriating me to answer my question.

I was so busy speculating over the significance of the metaphor that I didn't even hear the Medic coming in until it was too late. I spun around in shock when he called my name in an attempt to grab my attention. I panicked, and for the shortest of seconds, I stood staring at the doctor; frozen, like a deer caught in headlights. Then my instincts kicked in, and my hands moved as if they had minds of their own to hide my body. Though unlike most girls, my primary concern was not to conceal the nakedness left bared by the fabric of my bra, but the area above that; the one littered with scars of demons passed. I moved away from him, pressing my back against the wall and feeling its reassuring solidness against my burning skin. Whatever relief the shower had given me from the heat was all in vain now as the blush crept up my body, setting it aflame in my embarrassment.

"No need for zat child," the man cooed, "I am your doctor. I have seen many men, women and children vit far less clothes on that you have now. Zer is no need to be shy."

I mumbled something incomprehensive, keeping my head bowed down and my eyesight averted. I was working very hard to keep my breathing in check, and was so far not doing a good job. It wasn't the nakedness, it was the intrusion. My body was far from perfect, with scars and bruises and unsightly bulges that did not quite fit the idealistic form of beauty held by most of my countrymen. But I refused to genuinely believe there was something wrong with the way I looked, even if the sight of my mangled body might disgust others. No, it was deeper than that. The intrusion by another man while I was at my most vulnerable was a frequent occurrence that had left far too many sour memories. It had also left its marks; both physically and mentally, and I shied away both from fear and routine as the Medic approached me.

"I just need to give you zis shot," he said in a soft voice as he lifted something up. "And then I shall be on my way."

I gulped and forced myself to look up. The doctor was standing a few feet away from me with a syringe filled with a yellowish liquid in his hand. He had a concerned look on his face and was trying not to show it, but I saw it anyway. My unconventional show of alarm and panic must have caught him by surprise. I made an effort and willed my tongue to move. "What is it?" I asked in a low volume.

"It is a serum to stop your menstrual cycle," he said, reverting back to his formal, physician voice. "Our employer thought it best to supply you vit it rather than let your bodily functions interfere vit your work."

"Oh," I remarked, slightly detached. "Okay."

The Medic hesitated. "You need to extend your arm child," he said. I shook my head without even knowing or planning to do so. "It vill hurt if you don't," he warned, releasing a bead of the liquid from the needle.

"That's okay."

He sighed in defeat. "Very well," he said. He took out something from his pocket and used it to swipe the skin on my arm. The smell of disinfectant reached my nose and I scrunched my face in disgust. God did I hate that smell. "Deep breath," he warned me, and plunged the needle into my over-tensed arm. It hurt more than I expected it to, and it showed on my face. The needle had to manoeuvre between clenched muscles that were quite unhappy by the intrusion. The doctor, in addition, was none too gentle with the administration of the serum, just as he had been when taking my blood. I was sure this would leave an even bigger bruise than the last syringe to penetrate my body had. It seemed to take forever for the vaccine to empty its contents inside me, and when it was finally done, the Medic pulled it out quickly and roughly. Instantly I felt the aching soreness in my arm and the feeling similar to having slept on it for three successive nights. I relaxed my muscles and breathed deeply as he'd advised, only a bit too late.

"Done," he said, sweeping more of the antiseptic over my arm. "Come to me every month for zis shot. Do not forget."

I nodded without looking at him and kept my arms wrapped firmly around myself. "I won't," I assured him. "Doctor?" I asked.

"Yes child?" he inquired, tossing the needle into a hazard bag.

"Do you know where Scout is?" I figured it would be easier asking than roaming the entire building.

"Last I saw, he was running around the base," he said dismissively. "Do not forget," he warned me again. "Once a month."

"Yes Doctor." I held my breath until he was out of the room. When the sound of his footsteps had dimmed away, I ran to the door and banged it shut. My knees wobbled unsteadily, and I slid down against it until I was sitting on the floor. One tear escaped my eye. Then another. And another. Before I knew it, I was crying into my knees, heaving from the sudden onslaught of emotions. A million, million voices were coming to life inside my head, and each and every one was screaming at me.

"No, stop!" my own subconscious yelled in panic when my sobbing intensified. "You don't want to do this now!"

"Aw come on, you're better than this!" piped up my pride, "You don't want Scout to see you like this do you?"

"You're pathetic."

My breathing hitched. That voice was the one I'd been dreading. That cold, calculating sneer of a voice that never seemed to leave, no matter how far I ran. That voice, laced with so much loathing and disgust it seemed to sicken my stomach with the fewest of uttered syllables. I heard it now, heard it so clearly he might have been standing in the room with me; standing over me and looking down as if to spit on me at any given moment.

"Get up."

But I couldn't… Couldn't move, couldn't stand, couldn't block him…

"Are you deaf girl? I said get up!"

The lashes rained down on me. On my back. On my arms. On my legs. On any exposed flesh his belt could reach. I cowered in fear, but that did nothing to stop his fury.

"Get,"

Another hit.

"The,"

Another.

"Fuck,"

And another.

"UP!"

"Aaaaaaaaaaargh!" I screamed myself out of the memory. Like a child drowning in rough seas, I kicked and clawed at the air around me, as if to rid myself of the lingering voice in my ears. And as if it sensed my desperation, the storm about me stilled, waiting for the water to empty from my struggling lungs. I gasped gladly at the air, fighting down the uncontrollable fear that had paralyzed my body.

It had happened again. Christ, it had happened again. I couldn't believe it. No, I refused to believe it. It had been two months since the last one. I'd almost started to believe they were really gone for good, at long last. But they were never really gone, just hiding; hiding and waiting under the blankets until the opportune moment to strike arrived. My anxiety attacks would not leave me be, and that wasn't even the most frightening part. The scariest thing about them was that they rendered me useless. Nothing I ever did managed to stop them once they started rolling. No amount of thrashing or struggling ever interfered with the memories playing back before my eyes. They only stopped when they decided to do so, and sometimes, my brain was not so kind. Sometimes they lasted longer. Sometimes they were fiercer. But each and every one was frightening in its own special way. I'd already lived through them once; making me experience them again was just mindless torture, and my mind seemed to revel in my suffering.

"What are we going to do Katie?" I asked myself, just like I always did. "We're going to get up and stay up." I tried to stand, but slid back down with the first try. I was standing shakily with the second attempt. "Find some clothes and go to Scout."

At first, when the attacks had started, I'd thought I was finally going insane when I'd resolve to talk to myself afterwards. But I'd soon learnt it was the only way to deal with them. At least, the only way that seemed to work. I did it instinctively now, talking myself through even the simple task of tying my shoes. But it kept me occupied, and more importantly, it kept me moving. I didn't even know where I was going, I was so lost in my own thoughts. If it weren't for the Scout colliding into me head-on, I'd have probably kept wandering straight into the Red Base.

"Aw, jeez A," he whined, rubbing his chin from the impact. "Whatcha do that for?"

I blinked. I didn't even know I'd made it outside. I squinted from the sun, and through the fading dots of colour, I saw the outline of a blue tank top and running shorts. "Pardon?" I asked, still in a heavy daze.

"You walked right into me," he said, as if it was obvious. I suppose in retrospect, it was. "Hey are you sick?"

"What?" I asked, confused.

"You look like you've just come out of an ice bath," he told me, placing the back of his hand against my forehead. "Like you've got the flu or somethin."

"Oh," I remarked, shaking my head to banish all unrelated thoughts and emotions from my thinking. "No I'm not sick, don't fret," I assured him, slowly getting my voice back. "I was just looking for you," I admitted.

"Well you found me," he joked, spreading out his arms. "Came out for a run a couple hours ago and got bored."

"I finished training with Demo early," I told him.

"Yeh I saw," he said, motioning with his head towards the training grounds. "I ran past there a while back and you were gone. You changed clothes," he remarked, looking me over.

"Oh," I said with a blush from the attention, "I took a shower and changed into lighter clothes. I hope you don't mind." I knew he'd said I could borrow anything I wanted without having to ask his permission, but even he had to have his limits. It was the third day after all, and there was still no sign of my suitcases. He must've started to get annoyed by my taking his clothes.

"No no," he said, the corner of his lips itching up into a smile. "You can uh, borrow my clothes when you need. Specially those shorts. You take 'em as much as you want."

I stared down at my legs. In my dizzy state to escape our bedroom, I'd hardly noticed what I'd put on. The pair I'd taken were short; much shorter than the ones I'd had on earlier. In fact, they were about as short as the ones Scout was wearing himself. And they were pretty damn short. And tight. I noticed my gaze had shifted from my own body to the Scout's. More specifically, onto his thighs, and the lean, well-defined muscles glistening beneath the mist of sweat that clung to his skin. He laughed when he caught me staring, and I smiled in return. "Oh knock it off," I teased him, punching him playfully in the shoulder.

"Ooo, real scary," he mocked me. "What you gon do, stare me to death?"

"I can punch harder you know," I warned, lifting my fist in mock threat.

"Bout as hard as a butterfly toots," he laughed, poking my fist away and sticking his tongue out at me. "Besides, you don't wanna hit me."

"Pretty sure I do."

"Nah," he insisted, pushing me gently back towards the way I came. "You wanna come with me and grab some lunch."

"That too."

Turned out someone had made cold pasta for lunch and put the leftovers in the fridge. Scout scooped the remaining food from the large transparent bowl into two plastic smaller ones and carried them for us out onto the roof. I'd grabbed a can of Bonk and a sealed bottle of water for me and followed him outside.

"Hey thanks," he beamed as I showed him the energy drink. He was still holding both our bowls, so I popped the tab off and traded it for one of the portions of food. He took a large gulp before sitting down on the tiles. I laughed at his love for the sugary drink before sitting down beside him, but he hardly seemed to notice. He'd begun guzzling down the curly pasta with the Bonk held securely between his knees. "God this is good," he said, stuffing his mouth with another forkful.

I took a bite out of one of the pieces. I had to admit, it was rather tasty, even if it was just cold pasta. Whoever the chef was, he'd added mayonnaise, honey and mustard to the mix to achieve the perfect blend of sweet and savoury. "Did the Engineer make this?" I asked him, spearing another piece through the middle.

"Probably. Guy's a genius with food," he said. "You haven't lived 'till you tried his steaks."

"I'm sure I'll try them sooner or later," I said with a nod. "So is he the only one that cooks or do you take it in turns?"

"Uh, we used to. Didn't last long though," he said with a chuckle.

"Oh? How come?"

"Sweetcheeks, I was made for runnin, not for cookin," he laughed.

"That bad?" I challenged him.

"Not even close. I can make sandwiches. And toast. And sometimes I burn the toast," he admitted.

"I see," I said, suppressing a laugh. "And the other?"

He furrowed his eyebrows while he thought a bit. "Pyro's not bad, when he's not setting things on fire. He's in charge of breakfast now. Demo… Well, last time that drunk tried to cook he tried to feed me some funky sausage."

"You mean blood pudding?" I asked.

"Yeah that's what he called it." He shivered. "Man, you Europeans eat some pretty fucked up food."

"Oi, do not," I denied.

"Do to. You know what the Heavy made? I'll tell you what he made: tomato water with a raw egg in it. That fat fucker tried to poison me," he whined.

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad," I denied, laughing at the expression on his face.

"You got no idea," he insisted. "And then, the doc couldn't even use the oven. Tried baking potatoes with the damn thing turned off. That guy's got a bit of screws loose in his head. Tried shredding them and passin them off as coleslaw. I tell ya, you Europeans are nuts."

"What about Spy?" I asked, editing out all emotion from my voice.

"Frenchie doesn't eat with us," he said with a shrug.

"Oh? How so?" I inquired.

"I donno," he admitted. "Guess we're not good enough for him or somethin. Probably makes his own fancy food and eats it all holed up in 'is room. Whatever," he said, "Nobody really likes Spy anyway. You can't trust a spook, everyone knows that."

I looked at him intensely as he ate. "I have to train with him," I said. "On Sunday, when he gets back."

"Oh boy, Spook aint gonna like that," he laughed. "You're cheatin him outta his day off."

"Wonderful. Just what I needed; giving Spy more reasons to hate me," I murmured. "I don't even know why he hates me," I admitted.

"Don't take it personally doll; Spy hates everyone, and everyone hates Spy. Just don't get on his bad side and he'll leave you alone."

Well, it seemed as if I'd already gotten on his bad side without really doing anything, so that was out the window. But I wasn't about to tell Scout that, for fear he might inquire me further about that episode with the water. "And how do I do that?" I asked him instead.

"I donno, just don't get in his way."

"Scout, I have to work with the guy," I reminded him.

"Huh, forgot bout that," he admitted. "You better just listen to what he says then. Happy Spy is Safe Spy."

I nodded. "And if that doesn't work?"

"You come to me," he said in a serious tone.

"And what will you do?" I asked, trying to keep the amusement at bay.

"I'll bash the guy's freakin head in so far, they'll need cement to put his skull back together."

I laughed at his words, and at the serious tone he used to speak them. "I'm sure you will Scout."

"Hey, you're my bud," he said, "And nobody messes with my buds."

"Nobody?"

"Nobody."

And even though it was coming from the mouth of a boy I'd only known for three days, I'd have been lying if I said I didn't feel safer.