"I—I just can't do it, Jack…"
"Course you can, love, 's not that hard—you're actin' like you don't know the people who live here…"
"And what if Luc answers?!"
"So what?! Let 'em!"
"Yeah, and then I knock his fuckin' teeth out—"
"Hey, now…"
"Can't we just—can't we just, go back in the van, turn around, and maybe go—go check out the Grand Canyon?! Or—or somethin'—"
"Come on now, love, we already spent a half hour jus' tryin' t'get you up here—ring it, it'll be alright—if it's Luc I'll do the talkin', okay?" Sniper assures the clearly troubled Scout. The young man sighs, and his finger hovers about the dirty white button that rests adjacent to a time worn label with the name "Fitzpatrick" dabbled upon it in a soft, faded cursive.
"Fitzpatrick? Really? Guess I don't have t'take the time to think where your ancestors came from—"
"Yeah, Lawrence Fitzpatrick—" Scout responds quizzically, eyebrow raised.
"Does it get more Irish than that?! I mean, you're already from Boston, bet you bleed whiskey—all you're missin's the red hair, 'nd you've got the little freckles—right here, by your little nose…"
"Stop, Snipes," Scout attempts to conceal his growing smile from the Australian, who brings his thumbs to brush against his cheeks. Smoothing over the barely visible brown specks that plague the roundness of his eyes, Sniper can't help but smile himself as he pats Scout encouragingly on the back, directing his attention onto the dirtied buzzer.
"C'mon, Snipes, I'm serious, if you wanna turn around'nd leave now, I ain't stoppin' ya—as a matter of fact I might even gowitcha—But that's just, y'know, a suggestion—ain't gotta follow my advice—but really, I don't think we need to be here, I'm sure Ma'nd Alex are enjoyin' themselves with Luc, and my brothers prolly ain't even in town! C'mon, wombat, please, please, I can't do it, I just can't go in there…" Scout grumbles in one quick breath, instantly relaxing as Sniper silences him with a gentle kiss, his cheeks growing rounder under the influence of his light grin, Scout's loosened frame resting against his completely.
"Settle down, love…" Jack whispers in between soft, short lived kisses, Scout heeding the Australian's advice and allowing his gentle pecking to ease him down from apprehensive exhilaration. As Sniper attempts to pull away a final time, Scout decides otherwise for the both of them; hands locking behind the older man's head. Sniper grunts and even laughs nervously as Scout wrenches his neck down without any grace to better reach his lips.
'Jus' wanted t'distract ya, gremlin…'
Jack's internal chuckle does not outweigh his own growing enthusiasm for his mere distraction, the man allowing his eyelids to drop closed, his hands closing around Scout's cheeks to better feel the pressure of the Bostonian's unblemished lips against his very own.
"Naw, Mom—just coulda sworn I heard voices—"
Scout freezes instantaneously as a gust of air blows the material of his shirt and the voice he'd brushed off as being nothing establishes its place in reality with a disbelieving "Lawrence?!"
Scout's eyes nearly widen their way out of his skull, Sniper notes, the man biting down on his lip—they'd only broken the kiss a millisecond before the door to the apartment parted unexpectedly—the possibility of their engagement having been witnessed still very probable. If only they'd been so swift about their twisted arms and affectionate embrace, the easily misconstrued nature of their close immediacy startling Scout, the fear settled in his eyes.
"Nah, Mom, for real, I swear, he's right here!!"
A tall man of about thirty eight stands before them, his light blue eyes narrowed due to the rise of his cheeks, contrasting brightly against his pale skin and—bright red hair, Sniper humourously notes. The pointed chin instantly marks him as being a sibling of Scout's—one of many, as Sniper recalls—light blonde stubble aligns his well defined chin, the tip of his long nose peppered with the same subtle freckles Sniper'd noticed on Scout just minutes ago.
Though where Scout's eyes seem to still possess a sheen, a livelihood, those of his brother seem dulled, unresponsive—though contently so, as if the young man had seen it all, nothing could phase him in his nirvana of enlightenment, there was nothing new for him to learn—that, or he enjoyed the effects of marijuana all too much and all too often. He's definitely a handsome man, albeit slightly doughy, the sleeves of the ringer tshirt he wears cutting into his flabby biceps.
"Hey, Alex,"
Scout's voice could barely even be called a squeak. His fingers curl in a bony attempt at a lighthearted wave, his face contorted in a rather painful smile. He stands, completely rigid, refusing to take a step forward. Alex on the other hand seems completely unaware of his brother's unexplained hesitancy, and thinks nothing of the fact that the two—including a complete stranger—still stand in complete silence.
There certainly was no turning back for Scout at this point.
"Go on, love..." Sniper whispers lovingly in Scout's ears, giving the absolutely stumped young man a slight push forward. "'S no reason t'be afraid of your own brother,"
"Is—is Luc home?"
"Nah, man, he went to go pick up some milk for breakfast or some shit—what the Hell're you doin' here, Larry?! He said you wasn't gonna be comin', that you were goin' with some dude or somethin'—"
Sniper winces as Scout mentally stumbles on Alex's words, the young man blinking rapidly as the initial stun dissipates.
"Luc's fuckin' nuts, bro,"
Sniper can't help but smile as with those words Scout shares a sincere embrace with his oldest sibling, the young man gesturing Sniper inside quietly, Alex walking on ahead toward the back of the apartment, his distant voice calling for their mother.
'Thank God the mutant's relaxin' a bit…'
"I AIN'T KIDDIN' YA, MOM, I SAID IT ALREADY! LARRY'S HERE—"
"Larry?!" Sniper chuckles.
"YEAH! NOW GET OUT HERE, HE PROLLY AIN'T GOT ALL DAY!"
Scout shoves his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders upward nervously, flashing Sniper that very same, painful grin he'd shown Alex beforehand.
"Sorry 'bout the mess, Jack," Scout scratches behind his neck, Sniper clasping a hand on his shoulder and smiling sympathetically. "Hey watch your step…" Scout calls quickly, Sniper lifting his shoe back instantaneously—he'd almost crushed a small mouse trap with his heel.
"Yeah, we got a—a—sorry…"
"Y'kiddin' me?! I lived in the Bush for years, love, showerin' in rivers—I only got the little bathroom installed in the camper a few years ago, so I know what it's like, 's jus' fine,"
He must have assured Scout with enough conviction in his voice, for Scout seems to leave it all be for now. Sniper, on the other hand, seems to notice more and more about the apartment that wasn't fine the longer his eyes adjust to the darkly lit living quarters, its only light source being a single window that rests above the sink in the kitchen, adjacent to the living room in which the two still stand. To Sniper's right an arch like indentation in the wall leads to what must be the bedrooms and bathrooms.
Luc must've smoked inside, for the apartment reeks of stale nicotine, cannabis (though that was certainly Alex's particular trace), and a sort of citrus aerosol spray, as if the orange scent was supposed to block the more offensive odors from reaching anyone's nostrils—all with a rather frigid, arid air underlying it. The wood of the light brown front door is chipped, scratched and scuffed—it's certainly decades old. Sniper throws a guilty grimace at the dark grey carpet, stained darker in some areas than others—where most families had heirlooms and estates, the carpet, along with the door, must have substituted as cherished old timepieces within the Fitzpatrick family.
A shabby, dark maroon couch is pressed against the wall, dusted portraits of Ma's sons nailed along it to strategically cover where holes had formed, or where the paisley wallpaper peeled or has been destroyed by moisture. Due to her choicedecorating, the portraits are scattered about in random, asymmetrical clusters—very much an eyesore, but endearing nonetheless—the faces of her seven children, in all stages of life, is not something even someone as heartless as Sniper could truly scoff at.
The small TV blares, the antenna completely crumpled, static resonating in and out in tune with the fall out of the picture—Sniper, who could honestly say he hasn't watched a television program in years, cannot and has no interest in identifying it—though Scout mumbles something about a Price and it being Right before ambling his way to a small coffee table on the end of the couch, picking up a few envelopes, frowning quietly.
Scout had explained to Sniper that every day since his Father's departure, he'd always shuffled through bills and junk mail in hopes of seeing the scrawl of his patriarchal hero amongst the front of a manila envelop addressed to him. Or a package, a letter, a postcard, a telegram in Scout's name—
Seventeen years of futile checking, Sniper shakes his head, taking this moment of their seclusion to pull Scout into his arms, giving the still overwhelmed Bostonian yet another hug of reassurance.
"You're doin' just fine, love—least Luc isn't here,"
"Yeah, but where's Ma?" Scout asks casually, though Sniper can tell by his jittering leg that he is anything but.
"Think your brother went to fetch 'er," Sniper explains patiently, silently willing Scout not to leave him by his lonesome to retrieve her—things were awkward enough for them both without them separating so early on.
Sniper nearly jumps as a thin woman lets out a shrill "Larry!" on his right, the woman racing to embrace her youngest son in a speedy, stable flash of blue. Scout absorbs her force and weight (or lack thereof, she seemed to be as wide as Sniper's pinky), the young man a good head taller than herself. The two seem inseparable, to say the least. The woman buries her face into Scout's chest, her arms snaked around his neck.
Much to Sniper's surprise, Scout shows no embarrassment in returning her affection—as a matter of fact, he grips her tightly around her waist, with childlike dependency, running a hand down her back.
It truly did a wonder in demonstrating Scout's surprisingly well built, definite frame; compared to the tall Sniper, Scout had always been short and lean due to the nature of his duties. Though as he holds his mother, who could shrink into nothing in the grip of her son, Sniper can see the muscular definition of his arms and chest, torso, the length in his legs quite clearly, the very shape of a man.
"Oh, Larry—Luc said you wouldn't be coming home! Oh, what a surprise!" She spares no time in planting kisses all along Scout's profile, red imprints of her pecks stamped along every smoochable inch of his face. "Oh, I miss you…"
"Miss you too, Ma," Scout chokes, Sniper clearing his throat so as to excuse himself, not to break them apart. Never before had he seen the young man so soft and sincere— watering eyes and gentle hands, doting embraces, a humbling of the haughty edge in his voice, humility within its tone—the discrepancies between Sniper's Lawrence and Ma's Larry couldn't have been more obvious.
"Luc said you wouldn't be coming home!" she repeats again, a bit less hysterical now that she has had her time to truly process the presence of her son before her. She places her hands on a set of hips Sniper must raise his eyebrows over; for a woman in her mid fifties, she certainly was a dame indeed. Her light blue dress certainly seems far from anything a grandmother would wear—a light and breezy, solid print halter, a black belt minimizing her already nonexistent waist. Her makeup is tastefully done, youthful even. All in all a very beautiful, stylish woman.
"You know how he is, Ma—plus it's not like I talked to him, he prolly had no idea for real,"
Sniper nearly lets out a soft "hmm" at Scout's proper, loving, respectful tone with which he addresses her.
"Well just three days ago we were on the phone and you were sayin' you were with your friend, that you couldn't make it!"
"Change in plans," Scout smiles quickly, laughing and rolling his eyes as if to say "Oh, Ma," as she hugs him again, taking his cheeks in her hands and giving him yet another kiss.
"Well I know you must be tired—you want some juice? Coffee?"
"I'm fine, Ma,"
"You're lookin' pretty fit, Larry—sun tanned, healthy, muscular—I guess this—this job isn't such a bad thing for you after all! Though I'm tellin' you, if you ask me, I really would have rathered you went to college—"
The longer she speaks, the more and more prominent her own Bostonian accent shines through her speech.
"You and me both, but come on, it just wasn't gonna happen, Ma, where was I supposed to get the money from?" Scout sighs, tired as if speaking scripted words, as if the college talk Sniper witnesses now is indeed one of many.
"Anthony and Christopher both got scholarships!" she prods her son in the chest before shuffling past him straight into the kitchen.
"Yeah, but Anthony was also keepin' the lights on with potatoes when you couldn't afford to pay the bills, engineerin' radios before he was even outta high school,"
"I still think you could have gotten a little somethin' for you baseball!"
"Oh, come on, Ma, it was just a hobby—I wasn't no Jackie Robinson..."
"Well what about with all the money you're earnin' on these missions you keep not telling me about?!" she snaps passive aggressively, Scout unable to reign back his patience with that particular jab.
"Ma, even if I could tell you about 'em, it's nothin' you need to be hearin' about—you'd lose your marbles if I told ya about war and all that—now you're just pickin' on me to be difficult and you know it,"
"Well pardon me for just tryin' to make sure my baby stays safe! Luc's told me some of his stories, and frankly I don't like you gettin' all caught up in all this! He says you're a Scout?! That you're the one expandin' the territories of these—companies—I don't even know what they do— "
"BLU's the future, Ma!"
"Luc said the same thing about RED all those years ago!"
"Look, I'm already tellin' you too much, you shouldn't even know about 'em, for real, but they control half of everything in this country! If I fight for 'em, help 'em expand, that sorta effort shows up in my pocket—!"
"Money you should be puttin' towards a nice education—"
"That I'm sendin' to you so you can survive, Ma! It's not like Luc—listen, there's nothin' we can do about it for now, I'm on with 'em for the next three years—'cause, you know, my record…" Scout scratches behind his neck, and Sniper can instantly sense a change in their demeanors as Scout apparently treads on a topic of much taboo.
"C'mon, Ma, forget about it—I'm fine, and I'm gonna be fine—I'm the best Scout BLU's ever had, I ain't just gonna go dyin' on ya," Scout smiles, his mother giving him a skeptical eye, but continuing her work on the dishes all the while.
"Who cares about that stuff, though?! How're you guys?! How's Boston?"
"We're fine; Alex's been unemployed the last six months'nd Christopher's wife just had their second baby, you missed the shower—Will's still in Manhattan, he's washin' dishes at some restaurant—I told him to move back in if things get rough, but you know how he is—Anthony's comin' home from Japan next week, he'll lose his mind knowin' he just barely missed ya—Paul's still seein' that Rosa—dunno if you remember her, he met 'er at the body shop, apparently she came in a short skirt cryin' about car troubles and he fixed it up for her for free—gave him a rompin' in the back of it for free, too…"
"So he's still fixin' up cars at the shop then, huh?" Scout tries to steer his mother out of her moody grumbling, out of his brother's sex life.
"Oh yeah, 'nd Roy—God Bless 'im—he's doin' a missionary in Paraguay right now,"
"Well what the Heck is Anthony doin' in Japan?!"
"Some hi-tech mumbo jumbo for his company—I dunno, ask 'im yourself,"
"Man, and Chris's got another kid…can't believe it..."
"You're such a bad uncle, Larry, those little girls know all their uncles 'cept you,"
"Bring 'em out to the Fort, then, Ma," Scout rolls his eyes, Sniper stifling a chuckle; they truly were an interesting dynamic to observe.
"ALEX! GET IN HERE, THE EGGS'RE ALMOST DONE!"
Sniper hadn't even noticed the woman had prepared breakfast. Scout, who sits around a circular table, whose surface is adorned with a plastic, light blue tablecloth with a cherry print, casts his eyes on Sniper, smiling and beckoning him into the kitchen. Sniper looks down at his feet, the black and white tiles dusty, cracked, worn, and destroyed.
"Hey Ma, there's someone I really want you to meet—"
"Uhuh—set the table, Larry—ALEX!"
The woman stalks off toward the bedrooms, Scout growling and scratching apologetically behind his neck.
"Sorry I ain't introduced you yet, Jack—I don't think she's even noticed ya,"
"'S'arlight, love, take your time, she's got a lot to get off her chest it looks like—How could she when she's got her little Larry right in front of 'er?"
"I just don't know how she can be so oblivious to your creeper ass just stalkin' in the shadowy corner," Scout rolls his eyes, Sniper chuckling lightly. "Ain't even offerin' ya a seat…"
"Prolly too excited t'see anythin' but her baby—'Nd how old is your brother?"
"He turned thirty eight last week—surprised he hasn't yelled that I missed it yet…"
"So he's a couple years older than me, huh?"
"Sounds about right,"
"'Nd what's he do?"
"Well, accordin' t'Ma, nothin', got fired or some shit," he shrugs, setting up the table absentmindedly.
"Quite the potty mouth when Ma isn't around…"
"Hey, now," Scout smirks, darting his eyes devilishly onto the Australian.
"We've both mellowed out, y'know?"
"Bullshit, you're still a little hooligan!"
"She used to have a mouth on 'er, too—but—I dunno, ever since Christopher had my niece Genevieve two years ago, she's really calmed down—guess she wants t'make a good Grandma,"
"A hot Grandma!"
"Aw, come on Jack, don't come onto my Ma now, that's just gross…"
"I bet you used t'hate gettin' picked up by her in high school,"
"Dude, it was fuckin' disgustin'—dudes were askin' me to take pictures up her dress…"
"'S just wrong, love,"
"And here comes my boyfriend, creepin' on my Ma like the creeper he is,"
Both men turn their heads as the door opens from the living room, Scout biting down on his lip as the unsuited, unmasked frame of Luc throws a pair of keys onto the counter, the man engaged in a newspaper.
"Julie, moi Cheri, I 'ope you 'ave not already finished breakfast! I 'ave zhe milk, 2 percent as you asked! I am terribly sorry it took so long, I was—Lawrence?!"
Luc's jaw actually drops as he catches sight of the completely stunned young man who sits at the table, his eyes wandering onto Sniper's towering frame leaning against the sink.
"Jack?! I—you said you were going to zhe mountains?!"
"Change in plans, mate, Scout was so desperate to come home, who was I t'say no to 'im?!"
Scout's glare could almost be lethal it is so scathing and outraged. Though no sooner than he opens his mouth does his mother enter the kitchen as well, Luc sweeping an arm around her waist and giving her a loving kiss, the woman gripping the milk and unscrewing the cap.
"Alex, pour some milk, would you dear?"
Alex gives his mother an aloof "sure" before scratching at his lower back and doing as told, completely oblivious to Sniper on his left, and the absolutely murderous glare his brother dons—as is everyone save Luc.
"I—I see Lawrence is 'ere!" Luc attempts to express in light, heartfelt casualty, gesturing toward the young man whom he sits across. Sniper can only shake his head, the Frenchman having chosen to sit across his potential death.
"Yeah, just got in about forty five minutes before you came home, dear."
Luc and Sniper share a bit of a glance now the kitchen settles into heavy silence, obviously with little to no intent of revealing the man who has, more or less, hovered above them all uninterrupted since the beginning of Lawrence's unexpected arrival.
"Ahem—I see Lawrence 'as brought a friend,"
Scout's mother shrieks as she finally takes notice of the Australian, the man tipping his hat politely.
"Oh no, ma'am, let me," Sniper smiles, grabbing the dust pan and broom, sweeping the shards of broken glass she had dropped in the midst of her fright.
"No, no, Jack, you are a guest, it is not your place to clean up our messes—Lawrence, would you clean up zhe milk your mozher 'as spilled?"
"How 'bout you suck my fuckin' dick—?!"
"Larry—!" Scout's mother gasps, placing her hands on her hips, her face absolutely outraged.
"It is no big deal, Julie, 'onestly—forget I asked, Lawrence—Alex, would you—"
But Alex's chair scraping across the tile drowns out the rest of the man's request, the weight of his steps masking Scout's rage filled breath, his mother's sheepish hiccups, Luc's constant clearing of his throat, and Sniper's general humiliation felt over existing in the kitchen of this bin of looney tunes.
"Jack is it? Oh," she titters, holding out a small hand nervously, Sniper shaking it courteously. "That's—that's a nice name…." Scout's mother brings her hand to her mouth, nodding quickly and avoiding the eyes of everyone else for a few moments.
"I'm Julie," she adds a curt nod at the end of her short comment.
"So—Jack," Julie clears her throat, lifting her eyes up to meet the Australian's, who still leans against the counter.
"H-how did you get in here?"
Out of all the attempts to keep calm somewhere as a recognizable tone in their voices, Sniper has to say this one might be the best. Such a simple question asked so innocently, yet packed with so much alarm, confusion, caution, and worry.
"Well, I walked in the front door, Ma'am," Sniper attempts to joke, but simply resorts to taking off his hat and sunglasses, revealing the entirety of his person before his hosts.
"So who the fuck is this guy, man?!" Alex snaps, gesturing toward Sniper and glaring at his youngest brother. "Bringin' random ass guys 'round here, 'round Mom, the fuck is wrong with you?! He's just standin' there, man—"!
"Hey! You better watch how the fuck you talk about Jack, slugger,"
"Lawrence!"
"Sorry, Ma—"
"'S'alright, Lawrence—'s perfectly understandable, I haven't exactly introduced myself like I should have,"
"Come on, he's my friend! What else would he be?! Some random fu—freakin' dude I just picked up?! Seriously, how do you think I got to Boston?! I walked here?! Seriously guys, who else would he be?!" Scout rolls his eyes, slamming the glass of milk on the table, drops sliding in lazy streaks over its surface.
"Certainly not an enemy of yours!" Luc chuckles, Alex gripping onto the back of Scout's shirt as the young man rises, Sniper frowning slightly.
Certainly Scout's family would want to know just where it was they met, and it probably wouldn't take any critical thinking to determine that "The 'Fort", as the two had lovingly nicknamed their hellish front, was the place of origin as far as their friendship was concerned.
'What am I s'posed t'tell these people?! I've been tryin' t'snipe 'nd murder your son 'nd brother the last three years butcan'tbecause I love him 'nd the sex is nice?!'
"Jack's my friend—my best friend, he's—"
"Jack and I are also very well acquainted; I've known 'im for ten years!"
"Okay, just fuckin' interrupt me—"
"And how old did you say you were?" Julie leans across the table, her voice raised in volume to silence her son.
"I'm thirty six,"
"Oh, Goodness! Almost Alex's age! I see! Well then I'm glad my son could find solace in you, ," Julie smiles smally, Sniper noting thankfully that now applies a distinct softness whilst uttering his name. "He must have seen a brother in you,"
"Trust me, fleur, I 'ave beared witness to zheir comraderie; it is a very touching display of fraternity if zhere ever was one!"
Sniper shifts nervously in his chair, Scout blanching; he too must've found it rather repulsive to refer and compare the man with whom he often engaged in actions surpassing anything in a brotherly sense to his damn sibling.
"Your son 'as certainly touched Jack, and Jack 'im; in more ways zhan one—"
"FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKIN'—!"
"Lawrence—!"
"Nah, Ma, fuck this—fuck him, I'm done!" Scout shouts, stalking from the kitchen in moody strides. "Lawrence!" Sniper calls, standing to follow him, the front door however slamming moments later.
"I—I'm sorry, Jack…" Julie whispers nervously, eyes wide as she rests her forehead in her hands, shaking her head. "I know you must think we're rather weird, but I just don't know what gets into him..."
"'E'll be back in due time, Fleur, just let 'im get 'its tantrum from 'is system—I only made a few comments…"
"I'm going to go talk to him, I'm not lettin' my baby just walk out like that!" she mumbles, grabbing Luc's windbreaker from the counter. The three sit in silence as the final sounds of Julie's calling "Larry!" and the slamming door afterward diminish.
"I'm gonna take this into my room," Alex yawns, sauntering lazily through the arch and toward the back. "Nice meetin' ya..." he adds apathetically, Sniper raising a hand in acknowledgement.
"For God's sake, Luc—" Sniper hisses at the man once the bedroom door slams.
"What?!" Luc asks with a mocking smile, leaning back comfortably.
"You knew what it was you were sayin', you were provokin' him! He's tryin' not to lose his marbles 'nd you're bein' a dick, mate!"
"Ah, it was all in good 'umour! ' Onestly, you boys need to learn 'ow to take a joke! I didn't 'it 'im or call 'im a faggot, I was only telling 'is mozher about 'ow close of a friendship you two 'ave!"
"What were you tryin' t'say with that 'touchin' drivel?!"
"Nozhing! Just zhat you have made a significant impact in each ozher's lives! Any ozher way you two interpreted it is simply zhe fault of your own dirty imaginations," Luc chuckles, eyebrows raised innocently.
"He's not ready t'come out to his Mum just yet, mate, so watch what you say—please,"
"Oh, come, 'is mozher didn't even notice zhe comments! 'E's the one drawing attention to it all by storming out of zhe apartment, non?"
"Well we know what it is you think you're so funny mentionin', Luc, 'nd you already know Scout can't stand ya anyway—"
"Clearly not,"
"Act like a grown man 'nd don't give him such a hard time, let him enjoy bein' home without makin' him wanna go kill himself or whatever the Hell his problem is,"
"I just made a couple jokes, Jack—you must admit that he overreacted—"
"Still, bein' a dick 'cause you know he will ain't exactly all that mature either, mate,"
"So zhen I suppose you are zhe only one of us zhree acting 'is age?"
"I ain't sayin' that, but it'd be nice if you two could get your acts t'gether,"
"You're the one dating 'im, is 'e not an overgrown toddler?"
"He—he can be perfectly mature when he wants,"
"Which is never,"
"Hey, lay off him, mate,"
"Alright, alright,"
"Honestly, not sure how much I can believe ya when you said you loved him and his brothers,"
"But I do Jack! 'Is mozher and 'er boys mean everyzhing to me! Zhe Grandchildren love me as well—permitted I am 'ome to be wizh zhem,"
"Why d'you treat Scout like that then, eh?"
"It is all just a bit of fun—zhe boy needs to work out 'is sensitivity issues—"
"His issues prolly have somethin' t'do with his stepdad 'causing his father t'run out on them, only to move in and make his life a livin' Hell!"
"I tried being zhere for 'im during zhe transition, Jack! It was 'im zhat abused me!"
"'Re you serious?! You really sayin' that you took an eight year old boy's father away'nd you're the traumatized one?!"
"I was not zhe one zhat drove zhe despicable man to abandon 'is children! Every day I felt for Lawrence, I wanted to be zhe fazher figure for 'im I knew 'e would no longer 'ave, but 'e would not give me a chance!"
"You were still messin' around with a married woman, mate, there wouldn't a been a need t'replace his Dad if maybe you'd left her alone—!"
"An unhappily married woman who was being abused by 'er groom! 'E would come 'ome drunk, 'e slept around wizh multiple women and zhreatened 'er wizh taking everyzhing should she divorce! She was trapped, Jack, in a 'Ell of a marriage wizh seven children who needed a fazher and an income to support zhem all!"
"Scout only says the best things about his father!"
"I understand zhat you love 'im and will zherefore be quick to take 'is side, but please remember Jack zhat Scout was eight years old at zhe time—and arguably still is—zhe only good zhing I can say about Arnold Fitzpatrick is zhat 'e 'ad zhe courtesy to 'ide 'is abuse towards zheir mozher from 'is children.
'E was zhere for Lawrence, zhis is true—Lawrence saw 'im wizh only zhe brightest of eyes, but for an eight year old it does not take much to captivate zheir interest—hence why murderers lead zhem away wizh promises of candy and puppies, non? Trips to pictures and baseball games may work in one's youzh, but 'ad zhat man stayed in Lawrence's life as 'e grew older, it would 'ave taken much more to impress 'im—eventually Lawrence too would 'ave become a victim of zhat man's ill tendencies—or even worse, 'e would 'ave taken after 'is 'ero! What Lawrence does not understand is zhat I saved 'im from real abuse, Jack! Zhough to 'im I 'ave not, for zhe memory of 'is fazher abandoning 'im haunts 'im to zhis very day! Zhe boy stalks zhe Teufort post office when 'e isn't stalking you!"
Sniper chuckles, shaking his head.
"And when you tell 'im to let zhe man who 'as truly 'urt 'im go as zhe enemy 'e 'as sworn you to be since 'is youzh, you can only get so far wizh your advice,"
"…Aye," is all Sniper can say, scratching behind his neck.
"Zhe boy likes to leave out certain details when talking about me,"
"You think he knows about his father?"
"Firsthand? Oh yes—'is fazher abandoned 'im and 'is brozhers! Zhe abandonment 'as ruined, disappointed, broken, and shaped 'im. Lawrence meant nozhing to 'im in reality!—what parent could go seventeen years wizhout talking to eizher of 'is seven children? Or zhe one 'e claimed to be zhe closest to, for zhat matter—Zhe more apparent abuse on zhe ozher 'and, no—I 'ave explained to Scout the truzh about 'is fazher many times in 'is adolescence, but 'e is not one to listen zhe majority of zhe time,"
"But you still beat him, mate, when he'd give ya sass you'd beat the shit outta 'im!"
"It was cowardly and wrong, and I know it, Jack—I cannot take it back no matter 'ow much I want to, but you must understand where my frustration at zhe time came from—zhe day I insulted 'im at breakfast earned me zhe blows to zhe face I'd been expecting from 'im for years—zhough zhat zhey led to 'is imprisonment, 'is drafting into BLU—I regret speaking zhem every day, Jack…"
"Goodness, mate, I—I had no idea…"
"Lawrence is 'urt, very, very 'urt—'e 'as every right to be, Jack—but what 'e does not understand is zhat 'e doesn't understand who it is zhat initially 'urt 'im in zhe first place,"
"'Nd what do you think he'd say if he were to meet his father today?"
"'Is image of 'is fazher still stuck in zhe very frames 'e 'arboured as an eight year child—I imagine Lawrence would be ecstatic upon first encountering 'im, but wizh each passing minute, lost time would only catch up as well—'is smile would falter, 'e would want to know why zhe man left 'im like 'e did, and zhe boy would not like 'is answer,"
"Why don't you clear your name with the kid, Luc?! I mean, if you love him the way y'say you do!"
"I 'ave tried! And unfortunately, even wizh zhis knowledge I am not so innocent—I was just as childish as Lawrence, you know—I didn't take zhe little shit wizh zhe patience adult'ood should call for—we would often get physical once he hit around fifteen, sixteen.
'E would accuse me of not paying zhe bills, of going away to France for monzhs at a time—due to zhe classified nature of my work for RED, you can understand 'ow 'ard it was to sit back and listen to a smartmouzh teenager accuse you of taking pleasure cruises about Europe whilst in reality you were spying on your own 'ome country for RED's prosperity—apparently zhe French branch wanted to sever ties wizh its American parent—you can imagine zhe Administrator was most displeased—but you could not argue back because it would be a breach of security—divulging company interests would put myself and zhem all at risk,"
"Still, 's not like we don't make nice amounts o'money, why in the Hell're you livin' in a place like—like…" Sniper clears his throat, looking up at the cracked, water and nicotine yellowed ceiling.
"…this?!"
"You try moving into a gracious 'ome wizh seven children and zheir mozher on your salary, Jack,"
"Aye," he nods apologetically.
"Lawrence, quite simply, 'as issues; storming away from zhe breakfast table at twenty five years old because of a few jokesis be'aviour reserved for an age group much below 'is own,"
And with those words Luc leans back in his chair, silent as the front door opens, and a pouting Scout brushes moodily past them both, grabbing his cup and pouring more milk into it quietly. Julie sighs, casting Luc a tired glance and sitting back at the table next to him.
"So—Jack—is that van out there yours?" she wastes no time in breaking the silence, Scout's clanking near the sink the only noises he contributes to the sudden conversation.
Sniper clears his throat before nodding.
"Me'nd Lawrence've prolly spent more time in 'er than at the 'Fort! She's right cozy, drives pretty well even though she's almost twenty years old—I'd say me'nd Scout'd both call 'er a second home," he smiles, Lawrence plopping down in Alex's empty chair. He nods, wasting no time in shoveling a spoonful of scrambled eggs into his mouth, Sniper lacing their fingers on his knee under the table.
"You two don't have luggage to bring up?"
"The van is my luggage," Sniper chuckles, Scout making a pointed note to face only his mother as he speaks.
"Yeah, Jack practically lives in it! It's real clean, though,"
"Now where're you from again, Jack? You've got a bit of an accent—what is it, Minnesotan?"
"He's Australian, Ma, come on," Scout smirks, Sniper heaving softly with silent laughter.
"So what're you doing all the way over here?! Isn't Australia a little far away?"
"Oi, got drafted out here—had a few hits the Australian division o'RED wanted taken out, ended up gettin' moved out here permenantly,"
"Hits? As in, the mob, kinda hits?"
Sniper flushes.
"Y-Yeah, I'm a Sniper, Miss Julie,"
"That would explain the rifle I saw behind the driver's side of your van—"
"Oh shoot, I guess I should prolly hide that thing—"
"It's okay, Larry put it in the camper for you,"
"Oh—thanks Larry," Sniper smirks as the young man sticks his tongue at him.
"So how long're you two plannin' on stayin' in town?" Julie asks sweetly, pouring the still silent Luc another cup of coffee, the man disinterested behind his newspaper.
"'S'all up t'you, love…" Sniper whispers in Scout's ear, though the freedom to choose only works to petrify him further.
"I dunno—Jack's the one with the van, he's drivin', so…"
"I 'ave to leave early for Teufort, if zhis fact should 'ave any bearing on zhe duration of your stay,"
"When're y'gonna head out?"
"We're required to be back in approximately five days—my train leaves this Wednesday—It shouldn't take you too long to head back out West, I've 'eard you drive razher quickly,"
"Oi, how 'bout we stay a couple days, gremlin?"
Scout shrugs.
"Gremlin? That's a cute little nickname, Larry," Julie smiles at the young man, Scout's cheeks reddening from embarrassment—narrowing his eyes and glaring softly at Luc as the Frenchman smirks at him from over his newspaper. Scout lets it all be as Sniper rubs his back with sedative strokes of the palm of his hand, abandoning the action as Alex shuffles in, tossing his bowl carelessly into the spotless sink.
"Could you wash the bowl, dear? I just got done with the dishes," Julie sighs, but Alex simply grabs another chair and grants himself a spot at the circular table, eyes brushing over everyone and their expressions—save Luc's, whose front is hidden entirely.
"So how do you know Larry?" Alex asks Sniper in a blunt, lethargic mumble, Scout rolling his eyes and folding his arms.
"You missed that whole entire conversation, dude—he's my best friend," Scout snaps quickly, as if the recounting the simple facts as to who the unknown Australian is is below him.
Sniper prepares himself for a comment from Luc, though thankfully the man remains distant from the chit chat.
"Alright then,"
Scout brings a spoonful of eggs into his mouth, watching his brother's intensive stare on him from the corner of his eye.
"You know he never had many friends growing up,"
"Ma…"
"You know it always used to surprise me—he's always been a talkative boy—"
"He always been a chatterbox?" Sniper chuckles, Scout rolling his eyes and giving the man a soft punch on the arm.
"He's been talking for as long as I remember! Him and his Father would have the silliest conversations, and Larry was barely two years old!"
"Jack doesn't care about any of that, Ma," Scout sighs, taking a generous square of butter with his knife and smearing it on blackened toast. "I see you still haven't replaced that ghetto ass toaster,"
"Well maybe next time you come up you can bring a new one with you," Julie snaps back..
"Why do you bite into your toast like that?" Alex shakes his head, Scout raising his eyebrows impatiently, mouth stretched around the rock hard bread, the crunch of the solidified dough sending shivers down Sniper's spine.
"You look like a beaver, bro…"
"Alex, he does not, take it back, don't say that about your brother," Julie chastises quickly, as if the line is a trademark of hers.
"Yeah he does, look at his teeth! You woulda thought they had dental plans in jail—"
"That's enough, Alex," Julie snaps with finality, taking Luc's cup to the sink and patting Scout on the cheek along her way.
"I got outta there, man, I'm—I'm a soldier, now!"
"What, the Army don't have a dental plan?!"
Scout rushes to cover his hands before his mouth, eyes wide. Sniper finds it all so strange that Scout, who was often a very dangerous young man to engage when it came to the back and forth of exchanged insults, sits passively, silently trying to avert attention to the area of ridicule. Perhaps he says nothing out of respect of his mother sitting there (nothing Scout would have to say back would be appropriate for her ears, Sniper is certain).
"Ow!" Alex shrieks as Julie whacks him up the side of the head, Luc however making quiet imitation beaver noises seconds later.
"Now I mean it! Enough's enough!" She glares at the two men, Sniper smirking and wrapping an arm around the horrified Scout's shoulder. "You're both much too old for this kind of silliness! Larry your teeth are fine," She adds, sharing an eye roll with Sniper before collecting the food upon the table.
A few minutes go by in which Scout is completely oblivious to Sniper's watchful eye, too preoccupied with his own silent pout.
"Oi—I hope you all don't find if I hop out for a little smoke,"
"No, of course not! You can smoke inside, Jack, Luc does it all the time,"
"Thanks, Miss," Jack grunts, patting his pockets. "Oi...I think I left 'em in the camper; guess I'll nip down there right quick..."
"Well are we done with breakfast? Larry honey why don't you help me clean up a bit? 'Nd Luc I could really use someone t'mow the grass before the landlord files another complaint to the blockwatch—"
"Zhe whole point of zhe landlord owning zhe building is zhat it is 'is responsibility to mow zhe lawn, and take out zhe garbage, and..."
"Don't gimmie that, I've been askin' ya for nearly a week to do it already!"
"Fine, but I will be zhe one to file zhe complaint zhis time!"
"You gonna give that boob a piece o'your mind...?" the woman asks devilishly, giving the Frenchman a kiss on the cheek. "I miss you, honey..."
"I'm doing zhis for you, Cheri..." Luc growls, Julie giving him a smack on the bum as he lets out an irritated sigh before heading out the door.
"So!" Julie smiles, clasping her hands together before patting Scout on the cheek. "Let's get this table bussed and scrubbed, sweetie..."
Scout nods, grabbing hold on the dishes, kicking Luc's irregularly positioned chair that jutts into the kitchen with a blunt jab of his heel, the wood aligning neatly against the table.
"Larry, honey I know he bothers you, but please try not to let him get to you, okay? Who knows when you'll get a chance to see me again, I don't want you to spend all your time poutin', okay?" she soothes, gasping as she catches sight of a pack of cigarettes sticking from his back pocket.
"Larry, what are these—"
"Aw, Ma, they're—they ain't nothin'—"
"Larry I am ashamed! When in the world did you start smokin' these—these—cancer sticks?!"
"About half a year ago..."
"I can't believe you!"
"Ma, please..." Scout mumbles, taking the dish soap into hand and lathering it into a damp rag. "It ain't that big o'deal, alright? I ain't even addicted..."
"Where'd you even get into such a habit?! Who got ya into it—"
"Ma, I—Jack and I smoke, but I swear it's just sometimes—"
"So it was him huh?! You know I'm not really all so sure how I feel about him,"
"What do you mean?!" Scout asks defensively, forgetting to turn off the faucet even after he washes and dries the final dish, turning to glare skeptically at his mother, the woman leaning against the skin, struggling with the words.
"Look, I—I just don't like the idea of you hangin' around foreign, older men like that—"
"Oh yeah but Luc's fine—"
"Don't you interrupt me, Larry! I mean he seems kinda dirty, like he doesn't take care of himself—"
"We've been on the road for three days straight, Ma, he's not just gonna be a model—"
"He seems to be gettin' you involved in all sorts o'good things like smokin', probably drinkin' and cursin'—"
"Ma, it's not his fault I smoked the cigarette, they aren't even his, he bummed a pack off Luc—"
"So he's a thief too, wonderful—"
"He's not, Ma—ugh, you're not even givin' him a chance—!"
"He lives in his van, and then you're just ridin' around with him—how safe is that thing, huh? Does it wobble when you drive? Is he even a good driver? Does the car seem reliable?!"
"He's fine, Ma—"
"You know your Father was livin' out of his car for some time, too—"
"Ma—"
"He's—he has that accent, 'nd I notice you're startin' to sound like him, too—"
"What?! No I ain't!"
"You are too, Larry, you're pickin' up a little accent! And he doesn't cut his hair—"
"Now you're just lookin' for stuff to pin on him—"
"I don't have to look, Larry, the man is a killer! He's an assassin, and my little Larry is just ridin' around in his van, joy ridin' without seatbelts on—!"
"We wear seatbelts, come on, Ma—you don't even know him, you can't—you can't judge him—give him a chance, Ma, Jack's—Jack's the best thing that's ever happened to me, alright?! Seriously, I ain't never been so close to no one before—"
"Oh yes, forget about your own Mom—"
"You know what I mean! He's my best friend, and I don't like the way you and Alex're just attacking him—you've spoken with him for two minutes and for one of them you both had your mouths stuffed with food! He's important to me, Ma, and I'd appreciate it if you'd just give him a chance," Scout snaps softly, Julie scoffing, sighing nonetheless.
"You know you sound like me—I asked you to give Luc a chance—I'm still askin', even—"
"Yeah, but I've had fifteen years to realise the guy is a—a—" Scout shakes his head, for finding an appropriate insult proves to be a feat beyond his prowess. "You don't know nothin' about Jack—he's a wonderful guy and an even better friend—'nd if you guys don't start treatin' him right I'm leavin'..."
"Alright, Larry—but you can't fault me, I'm your Mom, I'm gonna worry about the company you keep,"
"Why can't you just trust me to know I ain't walkin' around with drug dealers that don't bathe?!" Scout chuckles, choosing not to mention that she's the one engaged to a child beater.
"Alright, Larry—I can't make promises for your brother, but I'll try to be a little less judgmental,"
"It's all I ask," Scout sighs, turning his head as the front door opens, the man of discussion slipping in jovial unawareness through it.
"So he's Australian, huh...not Minnesotan..." Julie mumbles, Scout rolling his eyes and smiling softly at the man who meets them in the kitchen.
"Luc sure did seem a bit peeved 'bout that yard work,"
"He never liked doin' it, he's always pay one of us off t'do it instead..."
"How do you know it's what he's talkin' about down there? I can only hear French..."
"Y'pick up enough of it t'understand when he's really angry when ya work with'im, Miss Julie," Sniper flashes her a handsome smile, one Scout is pleased to see silently stuns his mother, who seems rather takenaback by Sniper and his admittedly attractive features.
"So then you speak French?" she asks, intrigued and crossing her arms.
"A little, though my Italian's much better,"
"Nice, nice—so what were you two planning on doing? I imagine you don't just want to stay inside..."
"Well, I was—I was actually kinda hopin' Lawrence would show me a little o'the neighbourhood,"
Scout looks up at the man, who returns his sudden gaze with a small smile.
"There's nothin' to really show for real…" Scout sighs, his speech somewhat muffled as he positions his lips to hide his incisors. "It's a dump out there—Springfield's real ghetto, Snipes…."
"C'mon, just for a few minutes,"
Scout needs not to be asked yet another time, the longing glint in the Australian's eyes an unmistakable cue for the young man to abandon the table and treat the older of the two on a bit of sight seeing.
The corners of Sniper's mouth flip upward, the small dents of the dimples in his cheeks filled with a warm but persistent vibe of "c'mon". Scout gives Sniper a light smile of his own, turning to check his mother pays them no mind as he lifts his fist silently (but threateningly nonetheless) at the Frenchman's devilish smirk at the two.
"You don't mind Ma?"
"Of course not, Larry, I don't think any of us had plans today—though we were scheduled to have lunch with Christopher tomorrow, the kids've been dyin' to see Grandpa, and I know Christopher would lose his mind if he knew you were in town!"
"Yeah, yeah, I'll—I'll definitely go with you guys—we'll talk about it when we come back up, okay?" Scout sneers down at Luc as the two pass him, Scout waiting until they're outside on the fresh air to emit a long, frustrated roar of a sigh.
"'S wrong, love?" Sniper asks curiously, squinting at Scout beside him, for the white brightness of the overcast sky blinds him.
Sniper busies himself by studying the exterior of the brick apartment building whilst awaiting Scout's answer, picking idly at the mortar and looking up only when Scout makes a start along the uneven sidewalk.
"They're so immature!" Scout snaps, the Australian settling on a soft "Hm" as his answer, hands in his trouser pockets as he meets Lawrence's pace.
'You're all actin' like a bunch o'kiddies, if I may say so…' Sniper muses.
"Seriously, they need to grow the fuck up," he continues, his scowl mingled with a combination of disgust and disbelief.
"Dunno how your poor Mum holds it out."
Scout hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said this "Springfield" was a dump with nothing to see. With the exception of the poorly paved, pothole ridden road that ran in a straight line for a considerable distance, there was honestly nothing to prove that anyone even lived around the area—or at least not in a wholesome manner. A few boarded up, run down homes sprinkle both sides of the street, most of their lawns unkempt and overgrown with weeds, junk, and scrap metal. Scout tugs on Sniper's shoulder, dragging the man from his unaware step into a pile of fine, light green glass splashed about the grey sidewalk, the Australian walking on top of a Styrofoam cup left behind as litter in the tall grass instead.
"I wasn't jokin' when I said you don't see people out here unless they're up to somethin'," Scout, whose last statement he'd attempted to utter with an endearing lightness, instead only ends up as being a sad sigh, as if Scout had willed the reality of his life and the way he lived it to be far from that which it really is.
"I dunno why she hasn't dumped his ass yet,"
Of course they were back onto Luc. Sniper's lips twist in queasy slant.
"It was nice of 'im not to say anything to your Mum about—y'know, us," Sniper attempts to remind Scout that not everythingthe man had done that day was all that terrible.
"Bet you the bastard could hardly stop himself,"
Lawrence kicks some loose gravel with the toe of his cleat, his eyes watching the pebbles as they roll in between the aged grooves of the sidewalk before making a permanent stop onto the street.
"Y'never know, love, he might not mean anythin' by it; 'nd I wouldn't let it ruin your next couple days at home, if I were you—he'll be leavin' after tomorrow 'nd that'll give you a whole day to yourself with your Mum'nd brother,"
Scout shrugs, grabbing Sniper by the hand and leading him toward an unkempt park, plopping unenthusiastically onto one of the swings.
"Classy," Sniper spits, catching a glimpse of the graffiti upon his swing, a crudely drawn penis ejaculating drawn square where the ass is to sit.
"That's Springfield for ya, Jack…" he huffs, using his heels to rock himself just slightly, eyes on the dirt.
Sniper couldn't say he blamed the Bostonian; he too knew how it felt to harbour both a longing and bitter resentment toward all things home and the subjects that typically associate with the thought of it. Sniper could sympathise, the way he too would rather walk into the mouth of his enemy than into the open arms of his own kin. How did it all come down to the unfortunate fact that they'd both rather face death everyday as opposed to the memories of their fathers?
Scout had every right to be hurt, Luc was absolutely correct in that regard; both men had. And yet here Sniper was, forcing Scout to reconcile with the horde of unsettled anguish, misdirected and unaddressed frustration, betrayal, unacceptance—while Sniper trailed behind him only because the deeper he ventured into the happenings of Lawrence's life, the further removed he became of his own. Sniper never could stand hypocrites—and here he was, forging a two faced, double standard of a label to call his own…
"You're never gonna get off the ground if y'don't lift your feet up, love…" Sniper sighs, standing behind Lawrence and giving him a soft push, Scout's hands curled on the rusted chains, head cast to the side, eyes rooted in turbulent thought onto the mulch below his feet.
He cannot help but curl his arms around Scout's waist as he pulls him back for yet another propel into the air, the motion futile as the arms locked around his frame prevent him from getting anywhere. He seems not to mind, however, content with leaning his head on Sniper's shoulder instead.
"Sorry if things seemed hectic—y'know, with me stormin' out, 'nd the apartment lookin' like a fuckin' war zone, no one even noticin' ya until an hour after we'd been there—"
"I already told ya it was nothin'," Sniper sighs, Scout nodding, silent for a few moments.
"Look at me," Sniper mumbles, taking Scout's chin into his finger tips and pointing his profile so their eyes meet.
"Smile."
Scout looks about nervously for a few seconds before his lips form an awkward excuse of an unintentionally nervous smile, his eyes doing to much to express his question of "why?!" where his words are unable.
"No, no, smile love…" Sniper's thumbs brush against Scout's cheeks so his lips part, Sniper's eyes darting along the dimension's of his soft mouth.
"They're cute," he grunts.
"What…?" Scout's brow furrowing as he twists in the swing, cautious and defensive in his tone.
"Your little teeth," Sniper chuckles, and Scout groans before covering his mouth with his hand again.
"'No no, 'S cute, Sniper pulls the hand away, though Scout keeps his lips shut defiantly.
"So maybe they're a little bucky, but y'don't look like a beaver—they're right adorable…"
"I told you about callin' me adorable, Jack—stop lookin' at my fuckin' teeth, Snipes!" Scout chuckles as Sniper cannot help but grin himself, the young man's toothy smile to die for.
"Don't listen to'im, love—he's just jealous 'cause you're a cutie 'nd he's fat,"
"Jack! He—he wasn't always that flabby, he used to be skinny as fuck, actually—must be eatin' a lot since he got fired from the gas station,"
"I don't care, I'd be jealous too if my hot younger brother jus' showed up at breakfast, all tan'nd muscular after fightin' 'nd my ass is too busy eatin' hot pockets after gettin' fired from a convenience store…"
"Alright, alright, lay off 'im…"
"Sorry, love…"
"You're fine, Jack—and thank you…"
"For what?"
Sniper slips his hands from around Scout and gives him a soft push, the swing squeaking as Scout rocks in the stagnant air.
"For bringin' me here—y-you were right, I really need to be home…"
'Did the bugger really jus' say I was right?!'
"But don't think you still ain't an ass for doin' it behind my back and thinkin' you can just run shit,"
"'Course not," Sniper smirks, pulling Scout from off the swing and into his arms in one fluid motion. "'Nd you're welcome,"
"But you're still an ass,"
"'Nd what would Mum say if she heard ya usin' such foul language, Larry?"
"Hey, you ain't allowed to say Larry—"
"What?! Why not?!"
"'Cause it's Ma's nickname for me—'nd she can't call me love, or gremlin neither,"
"You've got the silliest rules, mate,"
"'Nd you better follow 'em," Scout threatens jokingly, seriousness however embossed in his tone.
"'Cause this is Boston, 'nd we don't fuck around,"
"You definitely aren't gonna wanna fuck around with your ride back to the 'Fort, either, or else you'll have to take the train with your favourite Frenchman,"
"But what if I was plannin' on it tonight?"
"On what?"
"Fuckin' around witcha,"
"Oh, Lawrence," Sniper sighs, biting down on his lip and shaking his head. "Not in your childhood bedroom, mate—I just couldn't—that's—what if your Mum hears?!"
"Then she'll know I ain't a virgin no more," Scout winks.
"But then if Luc tells 'er, you'd blow a gasket," Sniper smirks, Scout pouting for a split second before looking about to assure them of their seclusion, kissing the Australian on the cheek.
"Forget about it," is all he says in response, and as Lawrence kisses him outright, Sniper does just that; God forbid the King of Boston didn't get his way.