It's not long until Sniper can tell by the sound of impatient knuckles crashing in spastic annoyance against the metal door that it is Scout who waits impatiently on the other side. Sniper had to wonder to himself just how far along had he gone down the path of life until the sound of Scout's hands against a slab of iron had it's own distinct modifier in his thoughts—it could have been any other way when the young man was knocking on it all the time.

The knob jiggles forcefully, rotating in jerky, circulatory motions, quiet at first but growing in intensity and velocity. The passionate yelp of pain and the loud "Shit!" that follows only confirms Sniper's prediction of Scout's presence residing on the other side of the metal. The lock attempts in a violent thrashing to break its restraints. The door to the camper rattles under the command of a determined guise of entry, but to the door opens to no avail.

He figures if he were to just ignore the knocking, Scout would give up and go away. And yet, Sniper knew without a doubt that no amount of time would make the young man responsible for the disturbance of his peace truly disappear.

But ultimately, he was in power. As it was, Sniper was the one who had the ability to flick the lock so as to grant the Scout entrance. He grins maliciously as this knowledge settles itself into his mind, taking a drag of the cigarette he enjoys silently (and he curses Luc for getting him back into such a habit). His expression is soft and at ease, lost in the high of their victory over BLU that had taken place hardly twenty minutes ago.

The van's windows are blocked with the typical blinds that are rarely ever seen drawn, casting the interior of the Australian's living quarters in an unbecoming darkness. It was this darkness, Scout said, that only furthered the rather scathing joke that Sniper was nothing short of a creepy, grumpy 'old man' (though thirty six was far from deserving the label of being old and decrepit). It wasn't a dirty hideaway—he prided himself in his cleanliness, however the musk of smoke and incense wafts about due to the lack of ventilation (and he'll be damned if he opens a window, he had no doubt Scout would climb through the thing in an effort to get inside—).

"I know you're in there, ya bastard—!" Scout's muffled, angered voice is drowned out however by his own incessant pounding, growing only more forceful and aggravated with each second and each rap. Sniper simply leans back against the wooden chair he sits upon, the back of it digging grooves into his shoulders. Did Scout not know it was common decency to let a man have his peace after battle?

'Like the twitchy little bugger knows anythin' about social cues...'

"Open up—! It's fuckin' cold out here—!"

Sniper chuckles as he revels in the satisfaction of placing his gloved hand against the dial of the small space heater he has running near the kitchenette, the whirring doing a bit to dull the pounding on the frozen door.

"Jaaaaack—!"

'Perhaps I'm bein' a bit of an arse'

Regardless of whether or not he was, Jack could hardly say he had either the time or desire to entertain or babysit his enemy in this particular moment. The idea of his own bit of quiet, a time to hear his own thoughts, teased him wildly, and Sniper knew Scout wouldn't be going anywhere if he were to actually break down and let him in—

"Jesus, kid!" Sniper shouts as the van starts rocking violently, the young man obviously threatening to tip the vehicle over—

"I'm comin', I'm comin'! You win, you damn mongrel—!" and he wrenches the door open, the heat rushing out in a swift wall and the piercing wind and snow swirling outside gust their way presumptuously into his home. Sniper makes a point to glare rather nastily down at the pathetic runner who stands huddled in the snow, snarling where he was certain Lawrence's brow was rendered motionless by frostbite.

Scout stands with only his standard blue shirt, coatless with his arms tucked away under his body. The Australian allows his eyes to roll at the shivering young man, whose whole frame glows a bluish white, his arm hair tipped with white frost that forms a chilling settlement on Scout's frozen skin.

"'Bout time, Dingo! Was startin' to think you weren't home!" the American beams, his mood changing swiftly as he invites himself into the van, tracking snow in from his cleats. Sniper scoffs and throws a dish towel on the slippery puddles his visitor carelessly drips onto the floor, catching a glimpse of thick snowflakes that cling to Scout's eyelashes as he whizzes by.

"What took you so long—?!"

"'S none of your business, mongrel," Sniper reaches for a cold beer and pops it open; it would take a lot of alcohol to make this hooligan tolerable in this particular moment.

"Make it quick, Lawrence, I ain't got time for listenin' t'ya go on about nothin'."

"Yeah right, like you got shit to do—" Scout scoffs, plopping into the single fuchsia armchair and piece of tradtionally "regular" furniture the Australian possessed. It sinks under his weight, but the chatterful young Scout seems hardly bothered by the chair's depression.

"I do, and if y'got a hard time believin' it, I'll throw ya right back out there'nd let y'wait until I'm finished—"

"Jeeze, okay! But it's your own fault I'm botherin' ya—maybe next time you shouldn't shoot no damn arrows at people if you don't want'em interruptin' your precious schedule and pesterin' you about it later—!"

Sniper grumbles moodily as he takes a sip of the beer, placing it on the counter.

'So that's what this is all about...'

"Right; Guess I landed one in ya, earlier, eh?" Sniper asks caringly, Scout nodding.

"Well maybe next time y'should try not standin' around like a braindead ox—"

"I wasn't, you're just a fuckin' freak with that aim! I mean shit! What the fuck else was I supposed to do?!"

"'Course I'm a fuckin' freak, Scout, I'm a bloody sniper for God's sake! If I couldn't hit a sluggish little piece o'target practice like you I'd be a disgrace t'the occupation!" Sniper beams at the rise that flusters Scout, who always takes the bait of Sniper's inadvertent insults so easily...

"Um, last time I checked I was the best Scout on BLU or RED, slugger, so you better watch who you call slow,"

Sniper lets out a sarcastic grunt at the younger man's threat.

"The best, dinki di?!"

"Yeah, I got a medal from the Administrator and everything!" Scout grins, obviously very proud of himself.

"Ooo, you're a big note medal winner now?" Sniper asks with that same mocking voice of fascination, taking another swig of beer.

"Hey, don't fuckin' talk to me like that—!"

"I'll talk t'you however I bloody well want to mate, 's my house you're in—"

"Since when is this dump of a van a house—?!"

"Since before you were even in school, kid, I got this van when I was eighteen—you were what, six and still learnin' to use the toot?"

"You know you ain't funny, right?" Scout asks with a raised eyebrow. "Over here talkin' about toots, I don't even know what the fuck a toot is—"

"Well that's your fault, assumin' I'm tryin' to be a comedian—"

"So you mean you got this thing when you were eighteen?! So what, did you always know you was gonna be killin' kangaroos on the go 'n shit—?!"

"I've never killed any 'kangaroos', 'nd it was a gift from my father back when 'e was actually still talkin' t'me—I used t'travel with my friends when I was younger, we'd sleep right back there..."

"Ha—friends..."

"Listen, Scout, I don't plan on sittin' here with ya all day, so what the Hell 's'it y'want from me—?!"

"I already told you, that arrow shit!"

"So it's an apology you want?" Sniper eyes him sympathetically, his voice low with regret.

"Hell yeah, I do—!"

"Oh, Lawrence..." Sniper tisks, taking off his hat and placing it lightly on the table. "I'm sorry I didn't just shoot ya in the head'nd finish it—"

Sniper chuckles as Scout furrows his brow and punches his shoulder moodily, Sniper masking his wince with light laughter, holding the quickly bruising arm nonetheless.

"That ain't funny—!"

"Put a Band aid on it'nd get the Hell over it! 'S what happens in war, y'show your face in enemy territory, it gets shot!"

"It still fuckin' hurts!"

"Well who the bloody Hell do I look like, mate?! I'm not your damn doctor, go take it up with your medic, and tell 'im dear old RED Sniper got you—"

"The Doc's too busy takin' care of Mikhail to help me out, Snipes! And then our Soldier got hurt pretty bad too! There's a line! He said I'd have to wait!"

"Well you're bloody stupid gettin' outta line then, daisy,"

But Sniper sighs heavily as Scout shifts to show his arm, the arrow the Australian had shot into him an hour ago still lodged deeply in his bicep. "I mean it," Scout whines, his eyes watering from a very real pain as they bore into the older man's.

"You're the only one who can help me out—our Sniper doesn't deal with this arrow shit, and it really hurts, Jack," Scout whimpers. Sniper rolls his eyes, though silently observing the seriousness Scout displays; it wasn't like him to wince and plead over an injury, after all. "Come 'ere,"

He grabs hold of Scout with a distinct hint of affection, leading him gently onto his bed before rummaging about the van, collecting various first aid supplies, mumbling irritably under his breath. "Why didn't y'tell me you needed it taken out—?!" Sniper snaps as he takes Scout's arm into his hands, rubbing alcohol around the puncture wound.

"I tried!"

"No, you were standin' around bitchin' outside'nd tryin' to tip over the damn van!" Sniper corrects him, resting a relaxing hand gently on Scout's cheek as the bruenette winces, closing his eyes shut from the stinging pain of the disinfectant.

"What the Hell's the matter with you?! Carryin' on whole entire buggerin' conversations like y'don't have a damn bolt in your shoulder—Try t'breath, kiddo, this'll hurt—"

"I ain't no kidd—GWARGHARGH!" The Australian jumps as the Scout absolutely wails, fidgeting and twisting, elbowing the older man forcefully.

"Stop that, you're only deepenin' the thing!"

"OOOOOWWWWWW!"

"GAAHH—!" Sniper screams as Scout's arms tighten around him, locking him in a steeling grip as if choking the Australian somehow eased the pain.

"LAWRENCE, STOP—MOVING—!"

Scout's fingernails cut deeply into Sniper's arm as he attempts pulling the arrow from his skin again, the groans of pain and his beating heart accelerating as Sniper finally yanks it out, tossing it. "There," he nods, tears rushing rampantly down his reddened face, Sniper lapping up the blood with a cloth.

"Sorry, Lawrence," Sniper whispers in his ear, taking some gauzes and wrapping the sniffling young man's arm gently. "Really, now, you're lucky 't was jus' a shot to the arm! If you were anyone else I woulda shot your damn eye out!"

"Well lucky me, looks like I got the magic touch or somethin', 'cause I guess I'm fuckin' special," the young man spits, Sniper cocking an thick eyebrow, baring his teeth at the ungrateful Scout. "Oi, you'd rather I'd just went on with it 'nd ended your little life right then 'nd there?!"

"Over a fuckin' briefcase, though?!" Lawrence snaps, running his hand along his tender forearm. "You're sayin' you really woulda killed me over a goddamn briefcase..."

"'S my job, mate, the same way it's yours t'risk your life t'go after it—'nd kill those that stop you from taking it!"

"Yeah, but—"

"Obviously you were out there dodgin' things much worse than sharpened flint on your way t'steal it!"

"Yeah, but you're my friend!"

"I only shot you in the arm because you're my friend, love—I woulda killed anyone else—notice how I let you take the bloody intel anyway!" Sniper reminds him, rubbing his arm gently.

"Then why'd you fuckin' shoot me if you were just gonna let me take it?!"

"T'make sure your dumb arse didn't try comin' after it again! What if you'd tried t'capture it and I hadn't been there, but it were our Soldier, or our Demo?! What if our Engineer had a sentry ready—?!"

"You act like I don't take on your team on a daily basis-"

"Not one on one, y'don't! Y'may move fast, but it's the support o'the others that helps you advance, Lawrence..."

"So then this ain't even about the intel, you just didn't want me gettin' caught by no one else 'cause you're afraid they would've tried to hurt me!"

"Tried?! Doesn't take much t'break your skinny arse in half, love!" Scout laughing in breathy, dorky heaves at the flustered redness creeping up Sniper's face. "You're hardly anythin' indestructible—"

"Hey, yeah! That's it! You just don't want nobody hurtin' me!"

"Wanka—"

"You always say that when I'm right!"

"But you better keep your grimey little fingers off our intel—"

"Or else what?!"

"Or else I'll nail a damn bullet through your skull—!"

"You couldn't even if you wanted to! 'Cause I'm—"

"I know, I know, faster than a speeding bullet, you bloody—"

"You're damn right I am—!"

"So y'wouldn't've guarded your own intel if ya saw me lungin' for it?!"

"I wouldn't'a shot ya, though!"

"'Nd that's why the Administrator gets so riled up when friendships are made—y'know your Soldier and our Demoman were—'nd I'm sure still are—inseparably good friends, 'nd look at them!"

"Yeah, but sometimes I gotta wonder if we ain't more than friends—!"

"And yet they're constantly squarin' off! They're prolly each other's best friend 'nd worst enemy 'cause they know that bitch of an Admin would hack 'em if they acted otherwise—it's our jobs," Sniper ignores Scout, handing him a cold beer and popping it open with a bottle opener. "Yeah, I guess..." Scout sighs in an oddly quiet voice so unlike his own. He takes a sip from his bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You don't think Tavish cries to Jane when he gets a rocket to the face, or Jane bombs him soaked in tears when he gets to close to one o' them stickies—!"

"Whatever..."

"...It'll take a bit o'time for it t'heal properly—I wouldn't suggest fidgetin' about like you do..."

"Runnin's all I do, Snipes, you can't just expect me to sit out—"

"We've three days until our next mission, and if you're not feeling better by then, I damn well suggest you sit the match out, 'cause I don't need you gettin' slaughtered out there by my comrades," Sniper snaps sternly, Scout furrowing his brow inward.

"Hey—! Can't noneovum touch me 'cept you, with your damn arrow shit..." Scout snaps as Sniper chuckles coldly.

"You just be happy I wasn't aimin' to kill ya," Sniper smiles, Scout holding his hand against his arm gingerly.

"I dare ya, Snipes—face me one on one, I'd kick your—hey-hey-HEY!" Scout yelps as Sniper curls him into a dominant grip, though careful to avoid his injured arm.

"Don't forget I'm formidable in any range, love, I've wrangled crocodiles twice your size," Sniper growls teasingly in his ear, the younger man trying to squirm free.

"This don't mean nothin'—"

"Oh what, was I s'pposed t'give ya a head start?" the Australian chuckles, letting the boy go. "Maybe y'can outrun me, but you better hope I don't catch you, 'cause if I do—"

"What—?"

"You'd regret it, boyo,"

"You'd still have to catch me first," Scout beams before standing up, placing the empty bottle on the table. "Well, I know you want me to go—I can take a hint—and you got your 'business' you need to take care of, you claim you're so damn busy—probably fappin' or some gay shit," Scout yawns, looking at the older man who leans against the sink expectantly.

"You ain't even gonna see me out the door, huh?! I swear you don't got no manners for a 'polite, efficient sniper',"

"You're one to talk about manners, tippin' over a bloke's home when he's not fast enough t'the door!" Sniper spits, Scout wrinkling his nose and saying nothing until he rubs the forearm of the sore appendage.

"Uh, thanks, for uh—takin' the arrow you shot in me out..."

"My pleasure," Sniper tips his glasses at the American, who turns to leave with a final nod goodbye.

"Alright then—see ya,"

"Toodles,"

"'Kay, I'm leavin'—!"

"Well get bloody goin'!" Sniper rolls his eyes, Scout trudging out of the kitchenette and toward the darkened door.

'He yells at me for botherin' him, sayin' he borderline hates me—but then he doesn't want me to get hurt'n says that he cares about me?! Dude spends half the time denyin' he even does...so fuckin' weird...'

He gasps however as he feels the unmistakably long arms of the older man snake around his waist and torso. "Caught you, you bloody mutant," he whispers in Scout's ear, whose eyes widen and body loosens just a bit, though he still tries to keep that same scathing tone all the while.

"This don't count, though, I wasn't even really tryin'..."

Sniper mumbles before tightening his grip, resting his chin on Scout's shoulder.

"It never counts with you, 'nd y'only get so many do overs, love..."

"Lemmie guess, I ran out?" Scout laughs before kissing Sniper's cheek softly as he nods.

"I'm not goin' t'tell you t'be more careful out there again..." he threatens, and Scout grunts, though Sniper can also feel Scout's chest heave under laughter.

"It's only you I gotta be careful of..."

"All the more reason why you should take my warnin' seriously, love..." Sniper says matter of factly, turning Scout to face him before the two share a speechless gaze.

Lawrence can only stand still as Sniper cranes his neck downward, kissing the corner of his mouth with a gentle press of his lips. But Scout catches him off guard, kissing him outright. He hears the smack of their lips as they slowly pull apart, Scout silently waiting for the cue to continue before doing so outright; it was a strange tango, the two had developed…

Much to Scout's surprise, Sniper smiles down at him; it was commonplace for the two to shudder away from intimacy—understandably so, as the two weren't even really a "couple". As if Scout could ever let it get so far, with the looming connotation being with Sniper bundled with the title of homosexuality —Sniper of course fearful of being the one to place such a label upon him when Scout was not ready.

But Scout sighs and hopes to himself that neither of their own anxieties would appear to rob them of this particular moment; moments that had only started after Sniper had saved his life some ten months ago...Scout couldn't say what it was about the ordeal that altered his view of the Australian, but whatever it was it had led to instances of trance like intimacy such as these sprinkled about the normal, bickering filled days of their unlikely friendship.

Shaking his head, Scout slowly lifts his good arm to drape around Sniper's shoulder.

"Take care these next few days; don't do anythin' strenuous, and don't try pickin' any fights, 'cause you won't win—I'm not afraid t'shoot another o'the bloody things at ya, 'nd if I have t'dart your twitchy arse t'the wall I will..."

"You're weird, wombat," Scout grins, frozen completely as the man before him brings his hand to draw a tender path along his jaw, Scout's skin tingling under the rough and yet gentle, tantalising influence of Sniper's fingertips.

"...Only you would keep a dude safe by shootin' shit in'im,"

""S long as it gets the point across, I reckon the methods aren't really all that tellin'..." Sniper whispers in that feral growl that always signified to Scout that the marksman was falling prey to the younger man's allure...

Scout both loved and feared (for lack of a better word) his ability to rouse such a carnal rendition of the Australian. It was strange, Scout felt, the way the two could never utter an "I love you" to each other, the way, Scout often felt, that he often liked to pretend that he had no feelings for the older sharpshooter; in the same way he knew Sniper feared the tip toe of a line that when crossed would forever brand the Bostonian as his most feared "classification"— a queer.

It was okay, Scout felt, kissing Sniper and all (or attempting to before Sniper would shove him off the longer it went on), as long as they remained "friends". Boyfriends, Scout felt, were something entirely different. Only fags had boyfriends. Scout had always made a mental note that they weren't boyfriends. They'd never come out with or mentioned anything along the lines of 'any of that dating shit', as Scout called it.

Just quick jabs at the other, a tender friendship, and a nice make out (between to friends, mind..) every now and then. That's all it was.

And yet, it had to've been something much, much more than friendship that causes the tips of Sniper's fingers to trail along the edge of his hips...even if Scout refused to see it that way.

He found the sultry, accented whispers of his Sniper all too, well, sexy. And yet, as much as Scout could feel his body react to the smooth timbre that was a lascivious Sniper, a part of him also retreated in the comfort of his internal reassurance that this was his damn show, that no matter what, he, Scout, was always running things—even when he wasn't.

He hated the way his loud, imposing demeanor suddenly diminished itself to that of an inexperienced klutz whenever Sniper's strokes or embraces became that telltale gentle. It seemed almost as if Sniper knew to approach him softly, and that softness, he thought, only caused Sniper to view him as a kid.

He didn't want it to be obvious that he was basically a virgin (quick hand jobs from girls whose names you can't even remember don't count much for sex—). It was bad enough being twelve years younger than the man; it was bad enough, Scout always felt, constantly having to prove that the twelve years between them meant nothing.

Appearing childlike in Sniper's eyes, his hero's eyes, was always a glaring worry of his. He never wanted to stand out to Sniper as a naïve, ignorant boy who knew nothing of the world. One could say Scout simply wanted that the rugged hunter saw him with just a small glint of the same rose coloured eyes of admiration Scout saw him with. And yet the only way to mask this one glaring suggestion of weakness was to coat it all heavily in a haughty armor of emotional impenetrability.

Scout's eyes widen as he finds himself stuck in a linear pull, the yellowed lenses of the man's glasses doing nothing to mask the strain of gravitation Sniper's eyes command. His thumb rests against the corner of Scout's lips, the ridged print of his finger spreading a smooth sensation across the cheek Sniper had always regarded as so unblemished and glowing, the lithe frame of the runner so easy to slip into his arms...

"Don't be shy, love," Sniper chuckles, for Scout's subconscious whimper and turn of the head had prevented him from honing in and capturing the reddening lips in his own.

"I ain't shy—I just ain't in no fuckin' baby makin' mood!" Scout snaps, Sniper kissing Scout briefly before putting space between them, complying with the young man's wishes.

Scout sighs, scratching behind his bead, casting a stare at the man who now bustles about near the back of the camper, the longing eyes of the brunette going unnoticed against his back. He actually wouldn't mind taking it a little further this time—but it was too late to come to this realisation, he'd already killed any sort of mood Sniper was in...

"So do you want me to stay or go?!" Scout asks impatiently, though hoping the taller man lets him stay; he cherished his moments with Sniper, and, though he probably spent more time with the marksman than with his actual team, he still felt that they simply weren't together enough.

"Depends on if you want to help me with my business or not," Sniper grins, Scout's eyes widening.

"Not that kind o'business you dirty bugger—!" Sniper sighs as Scout grins devilishly.

"I don't know any other kind o' business, wombat—"

"You're a like a bloody tot with his fuckin' 'ead in the gutta,"

"Woulda been different if you weren't just fondlin' me two seconds ago!" Scout winks.

"Well either way, I'm not plannin' on buggerin' ya—"

"I hope it ain't no cleanin', I sure as Hell ain't no housewife..."

"I was just hopin' to catch some sleep, but of course here you come like always—"

"Now ain't the time for sleep! There's so much to do, Snipes!"

"Yeah, my mind sure is racin' with wonderful activities to engage in while snowed in on a cold as piss battlefield—pardon me for not thinking of a thousand and one things t'do around here—!"

"You gotta car, we could go into town and—"

"Get my arse accused of kidnapping BLU's Scout?!"

"It ain't kidnappin' if I'm over eighteen for one, and for two, it ain't kidnappin' if I let you take me," Scout smiles, winking as he attempts to dazzle his friend with a smooth smile.

"Not tryin' t' be a downer, but honestly, I'm havin' a bit of trouble really believin' that your BLUs'll see it that way,"

"Who cares what they think though?!"

"Scout..."

"Fine, we'll stay here then," Scout pouts, turning his head moodily.

"I'm plannin' on takin' a nap, so it's about to get very unexcitin' for ya," Sniper's muffled voice explains as he folds his vest neatly and lifts his shirt above his head, revealing a browned chest faintly scarred here and there with the gashes of hunting, the small patch of chesthair having neither grown nor shrunk since the last time Scout'd seen it.

"Man, you old people sure are boring..."

"I'm not old, Lawrence, I'm just tired after dominatin' your spastic arse on the battlefield—"

"You got me once—!"

"And you'll never forget it," Sniper beams, replacing his slacks with a comfortable pair of pajama bottoms, cracking his back and heading toward the in the back of the van, Scout biting down on his lower lip as he watches Sniper pull back the made blankets he had sprawled across the length of the down mattress he'd managed to squeeze into the camper.

"Alright, I guess I'll go then..."

"I'm not kickin' you out, believe it or not; you're more than welcome to nap with me," Sniper grins, Scout blushing, but quickly turning a defensive cocky for good measure.

"I ain't no fag, man, I don't sleep with other guys!"

Sniper shrugs, opening his mouth to say he'd only gone to the door of his van a thousand times in the middle of the night to find Scout before him, asking if there was room in the bed for one more.

Sniper however says nothing of the sort. Instead he turns over, leaving the two in silence, and Scout simply stands still, biting down on his lip as he watches the man slowly doze off to sleep.

"Plus I'm surprised you'd even offer, and you're not freakin' out thinkin' that my team would notice me bein' gone long enough to nap with ya..."

Scout awaits a response from the man, yielding nothing. He'd really meant that shit was gonna get boring...Scout sighs before peeking through the blinds, the blizzard outside raging just as it was when he'd left the base.

Though Sniper, somewhere in a state well below full consciousness, is awake enough to notice that he hadn't heard the sound of a door closing. His breathing is even and inaudible, only further augmenting the sound of the Scout's awkward frozenness inside the quiet van.

Sniper would have twisted when he heard the shifting, had sleep not nearly taken him over. But as he feels the bed dip, the weight of a chin on his shoulder and the distinct feeling of thin, taped hands wrap around his torso, he knows, even in his sleep, this nap'll be a good one. Between two friends, of course.