A/N The following is a "flashback" of sorts, before Scout and Sniper decided on a relationship. Also I invented the word "knowledgenlessness" and you're gonna deal with it.
Sniper can feel his heart give an exceptional pump and his throat become leathery, his thoughts finding themselves fleeing nowhere other than back onto the very boy he waits on. It causes the rise of Sniper's chest, the silent, steady breathing, to remain although unnoticeable in sight or sound, that much quicker in between. He hated it, the piercing knowledgelessness that came with anticipation.
With his eyes fixed on the BLU base, he can only spare a blinking eye every now and then, gritted teeth clenched as if holding them tighter provided some sort of comfort in all of this.
Hell, the man'd already debated just marching into the base and demanding to see their Scout. He knew such a march in would definitely require a bit of explanation in his behalf, but, in the romanticized eyes of the man who saved him earlier, many processes in the sequence of events can stand to be skipped.
But it would require an uncharacteristically brash charge from the Australian, a recklessness he all too often accused and chastised Scout for acting upon...
So instead he waits here, by the apple tree that had been barren since the changing of seasons, though whether it was due to Scout picking off all the fruit like every summer or the natural order of things, Sniper did not know.
Of course it stood, surreal in its stature, and Sniper wondered if anyone else besides himself and the young Scout even knew it was there. After all, he who paid attention to flora in a haze of automatic weapons and flying projectiles wouldn't be around long enough for speculation...
Either way, Sniper best hoped no one else knew about it, otherwise their intentions to meet discreetly beside it would only cause an uproar of violent accusations and assuredly lethal misunderstandings.
Sniper folds his arms, grumbling as a sickness festers in his stomach, his mind growing short in its patience as well as anxious. Images of the bleeding young man coiled and choked beneath his own blood, his own injury, play out of his memory. Sniper can still hear the young man screaming in a drowning agony that had frozen the man to shreds earlier that day.
His own team's Scout had apparently gotten into a bloody scrimmage with his blue counterpart in the sewers of 2fort—with no ammo and nothing but bats and crowbars, the two wailed viciously on each other, Sniper's own comrade emerging from the encounter as the victor...
Sniper had the rifle's scope suctioned to his eye as always, his lips pointed downward in a painstaking concentration that required the whole of him. His slender fingers slid along the rifle's length in a sickening curl that outstretched along the literal boundaries of life or death.
An eerie silence swept along the battlements and the rickety bridge overlying the filthy sewage ways underneath the two forts. Sniper clenched his brow as the length of the war zone became so silent in fact that the distant sounds of calm could be heard if one strained their ears hard enough.
Sniper didn't mind this, either, for the silence only heightened his sense of motionless fixation, mind, sight, and all things sensory related steeled in a brace that could only assure death to those who dared to stumble within his range, save...
Sniper narrowed his eyes as the soft timbre of anguish driven moans emanated from the depths of the sewers Sniper was certain had been empty. He could hear the rugged screech of Tavish's warcry in the battlements below, the unmistakable sound of pipe bombs exploding setting off a rumble that still does nothing to stifle the groaning.
He knew the voice, he did; Sniper knew the calling from the sewers, and his heart froze and he could feel the striking pound of its beat against his lungs the second it became very apparent to him that, the only voice he recognised whose sound caught his attention was Scout's.
It didn't help that in a flash of hot anxiety he realised that he hadn't seen the young man the whole battle—he'd caught sight of a flash of blue sliding into the water perhaps some ten minutes ago, but his own team's Scout had trailed behind the intruder, and there was no telling whether said intruder was truly BLU's Scout or not.
Still, he'd seen neither figure exit the pipes, and with a swift glance the man scanned the field with increasing worry for the sign of the runner, his breathing catching itself as his eyes darted from the bridge to the slight cracks of the balcony, checking even the shadows for a sign of his friend.
"Scout," the Australian grumbled as he finally lowered the rifle completely, and he could actually hear the blood throbbing against his ears as a welling instinct within him writhed in a brief, shiver inducing paralysis throughout his frame; it all felt wrong, so very wrong—his Scout was somewhere, somewhere and very much in trouble—he needed Sniper, and Sniper knew it.
He also knew it was fundamentally insubordinate when he leapt carelessly from his nest, his ankles cracking as he landed against the hard wooden planks of the bridge, though he jumped the rails, splashing into the mucky dregs of sewage water, wading his way into the circular pipes. It never occurred to him to turn the corner with caution of sentries or Pyros, the echoes of his splashing footsteps doing little to mask the moaning boy who begged for help at the other end.
Sniper had gasped at the view of Scout's shattered frame rested against the circular pipe, blood pouring from his mouth in thick sheets. His eyes were lidded so heavily that Sniper, for a moment, had to wonder whether he was still living—he couldn't have been too late—
Sniper's hysterical though muted cry of "oh God," went unnoticed by Scout, whose lower half had been submerged beneath the water. Sniper sat speechless as the young man's gargled moans ceased, more blood coughing its way up his throat. He watched as he became overpowered with convulsions, his coughs and wheezes having morphed into violent sputters, blood landing on Scout's front as well as Sniper's cheek.
Sniper's breath shook as his eyes darted with an overwhelming anxiety from his heavily bruised friend to the walls of the sewer, fresh blood streaking in coats so heavy that it became instantly apparent Scout had lost more blood than Sniper had initially presumed.
Sniper curled the hand he had pressed against the young man's cheek, thankful to feel a vital warmth in his flesh. He removed the headset delicately, pulling Scout against him as one of the points of trauma reveals itself, a trickle of blood sliding along his profile.
Without thinking Sniper grunted as his knees nearly gave way under Scout's build settling in his arms, and his breathing quickened as he considered which path to take, either way the risk of conflict just as eminent no matter which way he picked.
The steps had proven to be a challenge, as did rushing through BLU's base as a RED, but the BLU push in his own base had thus dragged the battle into it as well, leaving BLU's battlements an ideal deserted for Sniper to sneak along.
He was thankful he went by ultimately unnoticed, and as Sniper glanced at the American in his arms, he suddenly knew that there was nothing for him to do but get him to his resupply ward immediately. It was his top concern to dress the wounds and get him out of battle, wait by his side until Heinrich came (as much as he wanted to stay by him completely, he had no interest in provoking BLU's notoriously maniacal medic).
He didn't even know Scout's name, even after a year of friendship; it was unlawful to ask, and it certainly wasn't something to flaunt, being on first name terms with the one you were meant to murder. Even still, he'd let his own enemy near him in a way no one had managed before, with bright blue eyes Sniper'd never seen without an enthusiastic sheen about them, and the easy laugh, the eager voice, the wide, grinning smile—the smile that made you think you were special...
And it was fear of never seeing that smile again that caused the stride in the man's nimble run to exceed its natural capacity.
He'd picked the resupply ward in the basement for good measure. Keeping the boy's chin up, he disinfected and treated the wounds, whispering frantically to Scout in his grip that he'd be alright, that they'd be laughing together again in no time, the unmistakable choke of tears scratching at the pathetic attempt at evenness his tone tried with all urgency to uphold.
"Scout—Scout," Sniper whispers, patting his cheek and yielding a groan from the concussed young man, pulling the wet, filthy shirt from his frame, the fabric slipping off him with the ease of liquid silver over glass. Cleaning the gashes along his temple, his trembling fingers loose against the rag he uses, it takes the Australian a few seconds to recognise the sound of his own voice formulating desperate mumbles into the somewhat unconscious young man's ear.
"Promise me you'll be alright—that you'll find me as soon as you can—promise me you'll be alright, y'mongrel!" Sniper had lifted Scout's head gently so his gaze met his, his face hardly any noticeable distance from the one he addresses. Sure, Scout swayed and Sniper was praying at this point the dullness in Scout's eyes wasn't from any sort of ethereal departure from this world. But Sniper sobbed—he actually sobbed as Scout's eyes closed tiredly, the time between Scout's dazed blinks becoming longer and longer—
"I won't let anythin' happen t'you—" he swears, lifting his head up again, cradling his cheeks gently in his hands.
"Scout! Don't close your eyes like that, you're scarin' me—!" he hisses, though he turns around sharply as the steel door lifts open in a swift moment, and all Sniper can do as the startled Heinrich stands above their frames is gasp, and with one look at Scout his expression becomes ferocious, beast like in its anger, the man producing his saw and lunging for the lanky Australian, the one he instantly assumes is responsible for his injured comrade—
"He's dyin'!" Sniper shouts with urgency at the towering German, who stops in his tracks to observe the irate enemy Sniper who holds BLU's Scout, his own unconscious colleague. Medic's brow shows no sign of letting up from its tense furrow inward, though, as his eyes scan across the Australian's figure to see the nurturing embrace in which the RED Sniper holds the young man, assuring him he'll survive this, Medic is certain he can skip defensive pretenses and lunge straight into the healing process the critically wounded Scout required.
"Don't just stand there, you bloody fucker!" Sniper snarls, and Heinrich's eyebrows raise at the fierceness in this man's voice, Heinrich wondering just why the Hell this enemy Sniper was so worried about the fate of Scout's life—
"HE'S DYIN', HERE! Do I have to say it again?!"
Heinrich opens his mouth to address the man, though he decides otherwise as he sees the stony glare, conveying the ever present truth that now was not the time for questions if they wanted Scout alive.
"You hear me, Scout?!" Sniper whispers into his ear, Heinrich looking over his shoulder at the two while frantically rummaging about for the supplies he'll need for the procedure.
"I promise you'll be alright, love—I promise—"
And Heinrich's heart skips a beat as the young man coughs, a wet and laborious heave escaping his lips as he gasps for air.
"You must go," Heinrich croaks, unable to determine just how it would be appropriate to address the distraught man who sits by Scout's side. "It is not safe for you to be seen here!"
Sniper reluctantly lets the hand along his cheek go, and with one final look, he leaves the ward swiftly without another word.
Sniper had made it alive into his own base, his heart pounding and his whole front covered in blood and his mind searing with flashes of Scout in all his agony.
They won the match shortly after, but it didn't matter, the mission wasn't worth a shit for Sniper, and he could hardly stomach dinner that evening, the others watching him curiously as the arguably most quiet member of the team suddenly tore from the table and out of the base without uttering a word on his intentions.
He didn't care if he had to wait all night by this tree, he was prepared to watch the base for a sign of Scout for all eternity if he had to.
Of course Sniper checks his watch again, shifting against the bark and silently panicking. Scout, as he'd seen firsthand, had suffered greatly earlier that day, to expect that the boy would already be fit to hop out of bed would be a miracle...And yet, Sniper wondered, did his absence mean his own team's Scout had really...?
"...find it a terrible idea, Scout..."
"Don't worry 'bout it doc, I just want some fresh air for real..."
Sniper stops himself from sighing aloud, crouching soundlessly behind the large tree's branches, despite the base of the other faction being a decent distance away in itself.
"To showcase yourself in such a condition is both foolish and puzzling, dear Scout, but if you truly zink you vill be okay—"
"You're worryin' again, Doc—'s probably why you got all those grey hairs!" Scout jokes in an attempt to rile up the stiff German, who indeed straightens haughtily at Scout's quip, clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses.
"I have no grey hairs, Junge—It is all a trick of ze sunlight! Now, you are only allowed to valk ze perameters of ze base! Do not do anyzing strenuous, and do not stray toward ze RED sector or any of its inhabitants, do I make myself clea—?!" Heinrich warns in a high pitched hysteria, and he can tell by the guilt in Scout's eyes that the American had caught onto the implication of "RED Sniper" quite easily.
"Docta, docta," Scout sighing all he can do to voice his discontent, a glaringly weak and weary tone and volume settling into his voice. His arm is wrapped in a sling, as Sniper can see, the other bandaged so heavily that is beyond obvious why the young man chooses to move it so gingerly.
"Do not dirty up your bandages—!"
"Naw, I think I'ma go find a real nice mud puddle to roll around in—yeah, that sounds pretty good!"
"Ach, Junge—see to it you are back inside before it gets dark!"
"Alright, Doc, I heard ya!"
Scout waits until Heinrich approves it all with a final nod, the iron door bolting and echoing across the width of the silent forts lying opposite each other.
Sniper watches quietly as the runner looks carefully about before approaching RED territory, albeit with a highly contemplative, light step (though rather it was because of physical limitations or an actual acknowledgment of caution, Sniper is unsure).
"Oi! Scout!" Sniper hisses, doing hardly a good job to mask the urgency in his whisper, Scout making a move to dash toward him, the idiot—the reminder of his injuries however advising him otherwise.
Sniper makes his way to him, and as he takes one look at Scout he finds himself less able to restrain himself from lunging at him, though Scout expresses a similar impulse as he allows himself to fall (albeit carefully) against the man's chest, Sniper not waiting another second to snake his arms around the bandaged frame, and he can feel Scout's shuddering sigh against his neck, and the curl of fingertips settling into the hair left unexposed by his hat...
"Come sit down," Sniper mumbles after a few moments, assisting him in limping his way over toward the tree, patting a gentle patch of grass so as to soften it for him.
"Hey, thanks—Sorry I took so long..." Scout can't help hut spread his lips in a dopey beam at his dull comment.
"Sorry?! Sorry?! After all you've been through today, 'nd you're apologisin' for takin' too long in intensive care?!" Sniper scoffs, Scout turning red as it hits him just how stupid 'sorry' must've sounded.
"You haven't done nothin' wrong, 's my fault for not findin' ya sooner,"
"Nah, don't—don't say that...!"
"Why in the bloody Hell did you think it would be a good idea to run the sewers alone without ammo or back up?! They're dirty and dark and're always heavily guarded, if I hadn't heard your moanin' I wouldn'ta known t'look there for ya—!"
"I know—I didn't think it through—"
"'Nd it almost cost you your life, you git! Don't ever do anythin' so reckless like that again! I was horrified, Scout, I saw you lyin' there'n I was so afraid you wouldn't make it," Sniper grumbles affectionately, his expression softening as he can only take in the magnitude of bruises Scout acquired in his duel with the other.
"Takes more than that to keep me down, wombat," Scout attempts to joke, but his soft smile seems limited beyond the reality of things, like his upturned lips are the only part of him that actually believe such a claim...
"It's a wonder you remembered to come find me out here, you were in a state, you were..."
"Nah, I remembered—it's the only thing I remember..."
"Oh, love, look at you..." Sniper sighs, bringing his gloved hand to rest against the Scout's chin, studying the bandages that wrap along his forehead, arms and shoulders. "Thank God you're alright..." Sniper sighs with a sincere relief, Scout smiling weakly at his friend's concern.
"About as alright as I'm gonna get..."
"It's a miracle you can walk! Or talk or—or move, or—!"
"I know, right?! Apparently the Doc used some sorta experimental radiation on me—he said he'd never tried the technique before but that he was reservin' it for emergencies—somethin' about the rays speedin' the healin' process—he said he was worried it would go wrong, but I didn't feel a thing 'cept heat—but maybe it was just 'cause I was too blacked out t'notice for real—either way, even after all the healin' I'm still sore, and it's a bitch t'move—but I wasn't expectin' all this sympathy from ya, wombat..." he chuckles tiredly, Sniper helping him shift carefully upon the grass, still shaded under the grace of the tree.
"Heh...ain't nothin' up there—guess I really did take 'em all..." he laughs again, Sniper's heart nearly breaking as the boy grimaces, bringing his bandaged hand to his forehead, the gentle laughter doing a number on the relentless throb that overpowers him as is.
"You're a bloody mess, Scout, you sure you don't jus' wanna go lie down—?"
"Nah, Snipes—I wanna be out here with ya, it's 'cus of you I'm even still breathin', here," Scout mumbles, and Sniper can see for the first time in his whole year of interacting with him, a sheen of serious realisation coat the normally lively confident glint of his eyes.
"Don't even say it, boyo, I don't need your thanks..." Sniper holds up a hand, Scout closing his mouth softly as Sniper puts a stop to the gratitude he was to utter.
"...your Scout's somethin' else..." he attempts to joke. "Got me good—hardly got a hit in..."
"Nah, our Scout's head was bleedin' a bit—you definitely did a numbah on 'im; boy went to bed dazed as all get up, could hardly walk 'imself, really..." Sniper sighs, letting his ungloved hand still trail along Scout's cheek...
"Still, I'd rather neither of you'd been hurt," Sniper mumbles, the skin pressed underneath the older man's palm prickling with what Scout hopes is anything but a fuckin' blush...
"You saved me out there—I don't think you realise that," Scout chokes, his eyes directed at the grassy hill that unfurls beneath them, an orange glare casting off the blades as night approaches.
"I dunno where the Hell your ass came from, or how the fuck you knew, but—shit, what you did today..."
"Scout—"
"I'll never forget it..."
"I'm just glad you're not worse off, kiddo—you nearly had me in tears when I ran you up to your supply room..."
"Didn't know ya cared that much," Scout grins, his eyes shutting gently from a reactionary reflex to the pain stretching his cheeks induces.
"'Course I do! I may be heartless, but I'll make an exception for ya," he chuckles
"Oh, this ain't even all the bandages—" Scout nods toward his stomach, giving Sniper a look as if to say, "Check it out,"
The Australian lets his fingers curl around the ends of the boy's standard cotton blue shirt (a fresh clean one, obviously), lifting gently, exposing a serious set of gauze wrapped meticulously around his hips and torso.
"Bruised ribs—though 'cause o' you, 's all it was," Scout explains solemnly, his voice trailing as he finds himself locked in a stare with the older marksman all too poweful for him to handle at the moment...
"Oi, give some credit t'your doc, now—"
"You risked your ass out there for me," Scout ignores Sniper's gentle attempt at humour, his eyes glassy with that same rare instance of seriousness Sniper never really could get used to...
"—not just by throwin' yourself into battle to get me, but—ya know, bein' on the otha team runnin' through our base 'n' shit..."
Sniper sighs, the absurdity of it all catching up with him too.
"Heinrich was askin' me all these questions when I woke up—gave me a fuckin' headache—he said he came in'n you were in the ward with me—he was confused as Hell, I'll tell you that much," Scout explains, Sniper's stomach dropping at the horrid realisation that now Heinrich knew about their friendship—or worse, more than likely blamed his condition on him.
"Don't worry, Slugger, he doesn't know we're friends, 'n I told him I fell and caught the blast of a stray rocket—I didn't wanna start shit by mentionin' your Scout—I'll deal with him on my own—I told the Doc you felt bad—that you saw what happened with the rocket that you weren't just gonna let me suffer..."
"You really think he's gonna buy it?!" Sniper asks incredulously, Scout shrugging dully.
"Prolly not, but it shut him up for now—I think he'll try to keep askin' me shit when I get better, he was confused why you helped me in the first place more than anything. I dunno—'s gonna sound kinda girly, but I think he thought it was fuckin'sweet," Scout grimaces, Sniper muttering a soft "hmm" in response, his grin widening at the contempt in Scout's voice.
"Now they think you're a fuckin' softy—"
"Let'em think what the want 'bout me; 's no way I would let anythin' happen t'you—no matter what,"
"For real? Aw man—"
"You mean a lot to me, Scout," Sniper clasps a caring but conscious hand on the unwrapped shoulder, and he can almost feel the boy beneath his gesture melt into the very earth...
"No one's ever said that before," Scout grins, his gaze veered again in the diameter of the terrain.
"You know how fuckin' weird it is to know people only care about you as far you need to be cared for for war's sake?! Ma and my brothers woulda done it—I woulda done it for them too, no fuckin' doubt—but here's this fuckin' Sniper on the otha team, my only friend'n lookin' out for me'n savin' me like I actually matter—and I don't even know your name!" Scout can no longer hide his laughter as he turns to face the quiet listener, Scout's eyes lit up with a cynical humour, an amusing sense of disbelief.
"I don't even know your fuckin' name..." he repeats, shaking his head before boring his eyes into the ground, his fingers drilling a few blades of grass from their roots.
"...Jack," the older man whispers, the usual gruff sense of mild irritation absent from the heartfelt mumble.
"Jack?" Scout repeats, eyes wide, and Sniper can almost see him commit a name to the unidentified memories he'd built up with him during his first year of combat.
"Jack..." he repeats, nodding with a serious resolve as if confirming everything in the world. "Yeah..."
Sniper smiles, shifting and crossing his legs carefully, the tingling numbness that occurs when one sits still for too long dissipating instantly.
"You look a bit like a...Jerry—"
"Ugh—naw—!"
"Michael—?"
"Hell no, slugger—!"
"What about Christopher—?"
"That's my brotha's name—you ain't never gonna guess it, it's Lawrence—kinda a dumb name, huh?!" Scout smiles weakly, Sniper shaking his head no before stripping himself of the glasses and setting them gently against the earth.
"No, it's not stupid—maybe a bit too bougie for a little git like you—"
"Hey, you don't look like no Jack—!"
"Don't have to look like one to be one, Lawrence,"
"See that's why I shoulda never told ya—now you're gonna be usin' it against me!"
"We already got enough goin' against us, love," Sniper sighs, Scout nodding in agreement before a gentle rush of silence influences them. Sniper watches the exterior of the BLU base, careful to make sure their spot of seclusion is as secluded as they think. Sniper is so caught up in his act of vigilance, in fact, that he doesn't even see the younger boy's unwavering stare, his breath caught in his throat as he chokes harshly on words he neither understands nor knows how to say.
And yet Scout lets the tip of his tongue slide over his lips, the only unblemished part of what he feels may as well be the battered remains of weary flesh. He parts them softly, sighing rigidly before this act catches the Aussie's attention.
"'Samatta, boyo? Somethin' on your mind?" Sniper smiles, Scout scrunching his brow before shaking his head meekly.
"You don't really expect me to believe ya, d'you posey?" Sniper asks gently, a calming laugh slipping past his easy smile.
"It's stupid—forget about it,"
"Go 'head and ask, love, you've already got me listenin'..."
"You got a lady back in the lucky country?" Scout asks quickly, Sniper smirking, his eyes rooted straight ahead. Scout's' eyes are wide as he awaits his friend's answer, the older man chuckling darkly before preparing his response.
"I'ven't had a lady in fifteen years, love; when you get so caught up all alone in the wilderness, you find you don't have too much free time to squander away on skirt chasin' and knee pinchin'—or even, you find you have a lack of desire to find the time," Sniper explains to the wide eyed young man whose smile spreads gently across his cheeks. "Why?"
"Y'know—just wonderin' if—ya know—if there was a girl back at home you woulda done that for, besides, y'know, like, family..."
Sniper laughs again.
"So what did you do with this lady?! Y'all hunt kangaroos togetha—?!"
"I've told you a thousand times I don't kill kangaroos, we've got an assortment of wildlife down under, y'know," Snipe grins, Scout nodding for him to continue.
"I was what—eighteen?! We'd been friends a while—finally worked up the courage to tell 'er how I felt—she told me she liked me too, so we dated a year. Spent the summer with the van, her and me—the Outback was ours, it was amazin'—found out that Fall that when I wasn't cartin' the little princess around, she was buggerin' a good mate o' mine—that'll put a damper on a young bloke's heart—I was absolutely ridiculous for the girl too, it was right pathetic. I couldn't stick around, she was everywhere'n so ingrained in my circle o'friends, so I set out with the van on my own; just a nice week's getaway to clear my thoughts and whatnot—'course the seclusion and bush, I'd really begun to enjoy..."
"Sorry, Snipes..."
"Ah, who cares, it's been nearly twenty years! 'S not like I miss 'er or anythin'; besides, if it hadn't happened, I never woulda started huntin' game, or enlisted as a mercenary, and it sure as Hell don't take a genius to figure out I wouldn't be sittin' here with ya if I hadn't enlisted,"
"Yeah, I guess you're right..." Scout's brow furrows, his stomach rumbling in a queasy pattern as he wonders in silence whether or not Sniper found it to be a nice trade off—Caught in an eternal war, with memories of a shitfest of an ex girlfriend as a romantic legacy just to sit here by his side...
"Well what 'bout you, love?" Sniper asks with an enthusiastic curiosity, Scout beaming so his youthful blue eyes shine with pride.
"You kiddin'?! All the girls back in Boston want some o' this—!"
"Hm—well in that case I take it that's code for 'no'?" Sniper cheekily asks, his younger friend scowling and turning a flushed red at the man's smokey laughter.
"You're just talkin' shit—I could totally have a girl if I wanted one!"
"Then why don't ya?"
"I dunno," Scout shrugs. "Prolly 'cause there ain't none to choose from out here in fuckin' 2fort..."
"True, true..." Sniper chuckles, and he swears he can hear Scout's mind whirring with thoughts, radiating into the silent air.
"Plus, I dunno—I was never really interested in 'em for real," Scout's hollow voice admits without provocation, and his throat goes dry as he shifts to better ease the pressure upon his injuries.
"I mean—not to sound creepy or nothin', but I always felt like I only liked girls 'cause I was supposed to, y'know what I mean?!"
"Hmm," Sniper nods for him to keep talking.
"Whateva—you prolly don't even care for real..."
"'Course I do, love, otherwise I wouldn't be sittin' here listenin' to ya!" Sniper grins. "Though you're lookin' a bit stiff, I doubt sittin' out here is helpin' ya much—maybe we should call it a day—"
"Nah, wait," Scout lifts a bandaged hand and rests it gently against Sniper's forearm, hinting that he shouldn't move. "I mean—I just wanted to ask—like, it's normal, right...?"
"Is what normal, love?"
"I dunno—just—have you ever felt like you could almost kiss another dude?" Scout asks, Sniper easily able to catch onto the hastened, pathetic attempt at nonchalance in his best friend's voice.
Sighing however, the older man wonders just where and what the Hell to begin with, as, in all honesty, he's unsure what it is Scout wants him to say, the truth being 'yeah', that Sniper had long since come to terms with his own sexuality and his feelings regarding 'other dudes' and kissing them—but were these words right for a boy of Scout's temperament who obviously still struggles with his own...?
"Look, I'm just gonna go ahead and say this," Scout's voice quivers a little, his eyes focused intently on the hands folded neatly in his lap.
"You don't have to say nothin' you're not comfortable with—"
"I ain't uncomfortable about it, and I don't give a shit what you'll think about me when I say it!" Scout barks, Sniper's eyes widening as he is takenaback by his friend's sudden ferociousness.
"What's on yo' mind, Scoo'er—?!"
"Nah, fuck it—"
"I'm not gonna bugga it, love, it's obvious you're not gonna shut up about it 'til you spit it out!"
"Whatever, man..."
"Scout, just say it; you've already dug yourself into sayin' whatever it is, and it's best you just get it out—"
"Just forget it, okay?!" Scout pleads, Sniper's lips turned down softly as he nods from finality. "'s not important f'real..."
"Well alright," Sniper mumbles tiredly, rubbing a caring hand along the width of his back. "C'mon, love—you look right beat, y'do," he attempts at a lighthearted grin, bringing Scout gently to his feet. "Go get some sleep—you need the rest..."
"You don't have to walk me back," Sniper could swear Scout hadn't spoken at all, his voice is so inaudible.
"Don't be silly, Scout, you wouldn't make it 'cross the bridge with that limpin' of yours," Sniper scolds gruffly as he supports his friend's stride back to his own base.
"Take care o' yourself, mongrel," Sniper warns in all seriousness, careful of his injuries before taking Scout into a light but affectionate hug.
"Don't go scrappin' around, or fallin' about—do everything your Doc wants you to—"
Scout nods in understanding, and suddenly, as he stands under the protective hands of the older man, the hands that keep his stature right and prevent his own frame from collapsing within itself, a warmth Scout finds harder shake away creeps and wretches its way through his body with every second he allows his eyes to stay rooted to Sniper's.
"Will I see you again?" Scout's eyes seem locked with a deadpan gaze, though the quivering worry in his whisper is nothing Sniper ignores.
"'Course, Scout—don't be ridiculous," Sniper chuckles, his smile relaxing as he senses the reluctance of release in Scout's grip, his headstrong resistance in letting him go.
"Now go lay down before the Doc comes lookin' for ya," Sniper pats his cheek softly, Scout nodding into the gesture. "Don't tell'im you were with me—try to convince'im he imagined me in the ward this afternoon," he grumbles, Scout laughing weightlessly.
"And don't fall out of bed!"
Scout finally slips away, tossing the man he eyes a half hearted smile as makes his way toward the steel blue walls in the distance, though Sniper will never know that Scout's thoughts kept him from a beloved sleep, swirling about and refusing to dissipate on his behalf...