"You know what else he said?!" Scout asks sharply, chomping heartily through a toughened slice of bologna, the bread of his sandwich having long since been broken down by the enzymes of his spit (which too flies unabashedly from in between his blue, sickly chapped lips). "He told me to get out and then called me a tosser. I still ain't figured out what the heck that means," Lawrence brings his elbow to his mouth, pressing the salty flesh to his cracked lips, parting them before expelling twenty seconds worth of phlegmy, moist coughs from his chest. Placing his sandwich on the sleek and newly sterilsed surgical table, Scout gives further attention to his sore lungs, clutching his breast as his body finally shows him mercy. "Ow,"

"I just cleaned and sanitized ze bay, Scout," Heinrich snaps tiredly, bringing his gloved hands to brush delicately across the metallic table which Scout prefers to regard as a seat, his bottom snug against the edge. "I have only been back a grand total of an hour and already I must dust and spray down ze table again,"

"Okay, Doc, jeeze," Scout grumbles, sliding his feet onto the floor, the triangularly cut sandwich in his hands, rooted to it as if glued to the appendage. "Sorry for comin' to ya when I need ya,"

"You are taking me out of context, Scout, just please be more mindful! AND YOU SHOULD NOT EVEN BE EATING IN ZE BAY!"

"Dude, make up your mind!" Scout barks before releasing an aggravated "argh!" on the German's behalf. "I come in here, thinkhey, I'm sick and shit, maybe the Doc could prescribe me with somethin', you tell me to get food,"

"I told you to get some rest and eat some soup, junge, and zat vas tventy minutes ago!" the German barks, swiping over the surface of the table with sanitary wipes for the third time in the aforementioned time frame. "Not come to come back down into ze basement viz hardly any clozing and a fattening sandvich,"

"Come on, Doc, I told ya I couldn't sleep," Scout explains sadly through another mouthful of food, his teeth smacking loudly as he swallows his bits of food through his sore and congested throat, the young man groaning as the slop sliding down his esophagus flares within him a prickling pain similar to dragging jagged pebbles across bleeding, irritated skin. "And it ain't like you've got medicine to help or nothin',"

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I have sleeping pills, I just feat zat zey vould not be ze best for your situation,"

"So agonisin' in bed is, Doc? Where in the Hell did you get your medical license from,"

"Do you see one hanging up anyvhere?!" Heinrich retorts hysterically, the nesting doves he usually kept loose in the bay contained in a large, vast metallic cage, filled with perches and plenty of room for flight. It took up a significant majority of the bay's back storage area, clean and well maintained, and comfortable for the eight aviaries the man had grown to love so tenderly. "Jeeze, Doc…" Scout shakes his head at the laughing German, Lawrence watching silently as the man slips in fresh twigs and birch switches for the birds, whistling and blowing them soft coos, the Bostonian joining him next to the cage and smiling as the birds flock to his familiar face as well. "Every time I come in here when I'm dyin'n shit, I always leave with a million reasons to regret it,"

"Ach, Junge…" Heinrich chuckles, clearing his throat at his colleague's queasy expression. "You do not need me so much zis time around. I can assure you a simple diet of varm foods and sleep should suffice in bringing you back to healzh. Viz tomorrow and ze next day free it should be enough to get you fit again for battle…"

"Yeah…"

"And if you are going to vomit onto my newly mopped floor, zen please," Heinrich grimaces, handing the young man a metallic bucket indignantly. Scout smiles softly, curling it under his arm and rolling his eyes. "I feel like I wanna, Doc," Scout mumbles, coughing again.

"Not near ze birds!"

"Sorry guys…" Scout whispers quietly at the chirping pigeons, which flap their wings before settling again on their perches. Heinrich scoffs under his breath, spraying disinfectant about, the sharp, chemical smell of cleanliness scratching at the young man's nose. "Yeah, I think I'm just gonna lie down,"

"Vat is vrong viz you, Junge?" Heinrich asks him sympathetically, Scout giving the doctor a succinct look over with his glassy, cold influenced eyes, glaring at the rusted bottom of the potentially useful bucket should his stomach refuse to settle. Besides cold. "I don't even know where the fuck to begin." Heinrich starts at the expletive, but after a generous minute of complete silence from the verbose Bostonian, the German cannot help but look up from the cage and at the contemplative Lawrence who stands off to the side. "Clearly it must have started somevere," Heinrich suggests nervously, slipping off the gloves and placing them neatly into his coat pocket, sitting upon a pile of morphine filled crates and giving the young man a look of attentiveness. "Yeah, actually," Scout smirks, avoiding the man's eye. "After you left, when you dropped me off at the diner,"

"Oh? I have been meaning to ask you how zat all vent,"

"Right, well…"

"Spit it out, Lawrence!"

"So I apologized, right? You know, I kinda told him, you know, about what we talked about,"

"Vat's zat? You loving him?"

"Y-yeah…"

"Vhere iz ze problem?"

"C'mon, Doc, you ain't even givin' me a chance to tell you what happened,"

"Vell you are not getting zere fast enough! I cannot help you viz your problems if you do not tell me vat zey are!"

"Well jeeze, and you call me impatient," the young man sniffs and coughs before patting his chest lightly. "So,"

"So?" Heinrich asks, his voice strained with all the patience of a school girl. "So you know, we were official,"

"Ach, zat is vonderful to hear! I am so glad I vas able to help!"

"Yeah, you really helped me, and we were like, I dunno, we kinda got into it a little, but it was nothin' serious. Ended up goin' to a strip club with him, right?"

"Lawrence!"

"Come on, Doc, I'm almost twenty five," Scout chuckles, fidgeting with a stethoscope resting upon the table, twisting it absentmindedly in his fingers. "You did not, put your zing, anyvere, I hope,"

"Doc no! She just kinda humped my junk for a bit while Jack watched and drank whiskey—it was somethin' else,"

"Oh Junge, you two are ze vierdest people I vill probably ever meet,"

"Nah, we were laughin' about it the next day, but—turns out he took me up to Boston, to visit my family,

"Vell zat vas very kind of him!"

"Yeah, we stayed a couple days and really had a great time…"

"Zat is good to hear,"

"He took me to a game, he got to meet Ma and a few of my brothers, I made him dinner one night and he really liked it! It was a good trip,"

"And your stepfazer?"

"Luc was an ass like always, but, he bought us the tickets, you know? I thought that was pretty nice,"

"Hm, so zen he vas tolerable?"

"Tolerable enough,"

"I'm glad to hear you had a nice time viz your family, zen! You had been talking about missing your mom and brozers and how it had been too long since you had last seen zem,"

"Yeah well, my brother, Christopher, the one I told you had the little girls just a few months ago? He figured out I was with Jack and he kinda exploded in front of everybody,"

"Lawrence,"

"Yeah; he called me out in front of Ma and Luc and the kids, sayin' me and Jack were filthy and that I wasn't allowed in the house until I got the fag whipped outta me in the war. Ma and Luc stood up for us—it was the nicest thing he's ever done, you know?"

"Zat's terrible, junge," Heinrich sighs, shaking his head solemnly. "I too have suffered under ozers in a similar vay—for everyzing from being German to being in a homosexual relationship viz a Soviet Jew,"

"Doc, that's…"

"It happens, but ven you grow to be my age, you find it does not matter as long as zat one does not leave your side,"

"Yeah," Scout interjects somewhat hysterically, putting the instrument down and attempting to lean nonchalantly against the table, his sweaty palms preventing him from gripping onto it with any noticeable avail. "After getting kick outta Boston early, we decided to just come back here, right?"

"Yes,"

"Well, we decided to spend some more evenings out,"

"Hit a club in every state along ze vay?"

"Hah—not quite, Doc,"

"Oh!"

"Nah, he wanted to take me somewhere nice, 'cause he said I deserved it,"

"Ach, zat vas very nice of Jack, vas it not?"

"He pulled out all the stops for me, Doc. He put on a suit and deodorant, and he got me one, too,"

"He bought you a suit?"

"Yeah, and it looked really nice on me, he said so,"

"Lawrence, zat is darling,"

"Right. He took me out to dinner in Downtown Saint Louis. It was this fancy ass place, too, wasn't nothin' on the menu under ten (A/N: in 1968 ten dollars was the equivalent of sixty) bucks,"

"Good Lord! He must have had a budget for you zen!"

"He spent all this money on this night, Doc, and I think it was even all he had…"

"He must love you, Lawrence,"

"He bought this old ass expensive wine, right? Like seriously, it was—"

"Expensive?"

"I don't think Luc's even bought Ma wine that pricey,"

"Sounds like you vere his prince for a night, oder?"

"I—I did somethin' really bad, Doc…" Scout scratches behind his neck, growing embarrassed as the faults in the man's face form an expression of weary anticipation from the older German. "…the waitress, right? She was comin' onto him hard, that bitch,"

"Scout…"

"And I caused a scene. She wrote her number down, and I lost it. I took it out on him real bad, said all this shit in front of everybody, and tore his car up, then I jumped,"

"VAT?! VHERE?!"

"I jumped into the Missouri River…"

"Lawrence," Heinrich gasps, and the quiet that settles between them does enough to express the man's disbelief as well as Scout's embarrassment. "I ruined the night, I ruined the suits—he spent so much on my suit, and his was even Armani, hundreds of bucks, he bought it in Italy. I shot the van to Hell and—"

"Goodness gracious,"

"All I can remember is jumpin', I was too drunk for anything else. He jumped in after me and swam for forever tryin' to find me, and apparently I got a crowd watchin' and he got a ticket for causin' a disturbance, and did CPR on me for forever, thinkin' I was dead,"

"Lawrence…"

"I passed out, and woke up again at around three A.M., right? Coughin' and shit, sore ass throat, Jack makes me tea and soup and he's white, and I mean like paper fuckin' white, Doc, I could tell he'd been cryin',"

The German simply holds his face in his hands. "I ain't ever seen Jack cry before, Doc, but I knew he had been,"

"Scout…"

"I couldn't even look at him. He brought me the food and told me to sleep, but I couldn't fuckin' sleep after all that. I felt fuckin' terrible, Doc, I hurt him so bad,"

"Meine Guete…"

"So I'm lyin' there wide awake, and I could see a light on underneath the door, in the sitting room. It's not big, 'n can barely fit the armchair and coffee table, right?"

"Sure,"

"I could tell he was sittin' in it, and I could hear voices, like he was listenin' to the radio. But even though none of us weren't sayin' nothin' I knew we were both focusin' our energy on each other and the same thing. So I got up. I wrapped the blankets around me 'cause I was cold as fuck, and I got up and I spoke to him,"

"Vat did you say? Vat could you possibly say?!"

"That I loved him, and that I was sorry,"

"And did it…vork?"

"You know that kinda angry parents get? Like when they don't yell, but they're quiet and they ain't got an expression on their faces, and they don't even look you in the eye?"

"I suppose…"

"When he finally looked at me, I fuckin' regretted it,"

"It is understandable he vas so upset, however,"

"I ain't disputin' that, Doc, not at all—but no matter what I fuckin' did, it wasn't good enough—no sorry was good enough,"

"Zen vat?"

"He exploded. In the car, he just—he fuckin' exploded at me. I couldn't say nothin'. We argued a little, 'cause I told him! I told him I was sorry, I was tryin', I'd do anything to get him to forgive me, but it wasn't good enough,"

"I cannot say I blame him, Lawrence,"

"And he told me it was over, that he didn't want me anymore, he told me to pack my shit and never come to the camper again,"

"Jack said zis?!"

"Yeah, Doc,"

"Zen vat?"

"Well he meant it, that's for sure. He threw me my suitcase, and called me a tosser, told me he was done with me,"

"Vas he upset?"

"That quiet kind of upset. He wasn't sayin' nothin', he was stony faced as shit and quiet as Hell,"

"Good Lord,"

"He told me it was all a mistake,"

"You two did not even last two veeks,"

"I—I tried, Doc,"

"Perhaps you are simply not ready to be in a relationship,"

"But I don't wanna lose him, Doc!" Scout snaps, though shaking his head quietly and giving himself a chance to calm down. "I guess I blew that though, huh?"

"I am afraid so, Lawrence,"

"Three years of friendship, and I fucked it up in one night,"

"Maybe one day he vill forgive you, but to expect more zan zat," Heinrich begins, though Lawrence begins to pace slowly, eyes lowered at the ground. "I am afraid zat I am not too optimistic about anyzing mending itself out of zis in ze future,"

"Yeah,"

"I am sorry, Lawrence, but as I told you zat day at ze diner, perhaps it is not meant to be. After all, he is a RED, perhaps ze time meant for you two to be togezer has come and gone…" Heinrich explains solemnly, letting his voice drop however as Scout nods curtly. "Everyzing happens for a reason,"

"Yeah, that's life, huh?" Scout chokes quickly, though the young man's tears prove to be faster. "Ach, Junge…" Heinrich sighs before rising from his chair and taking the young man into a soft, fatherly hug, Scout finding no further need to hide it all and sobbing quietly into the man's cleanly, dry cleaned coat. Trying his best not to subject the jacket to secondary usage as a tissue, Lawrence sniffs harshly before resting his head against the shoulder of the older man. "Let it out, Junge, zere is nozing vrong viz a healzy cry," Heinrich sighs, patting his youngest comrade on the back. "I understand it is difficult and I sympazise, losing your love cannot be easy, but you cannot say your actions were ze visest, nor can you blame ze man's decision,"

"H-he said all I do is hurt him,"

"Ach, ve boz know zat is not true, ozervise he vould not have fallen for you,"

"He s-said he was d-done with me,"

"Give it time, Lawrence, give it time,"

Heinrich's eyes shoot up quickly as the door to the medibay parts loudly, the metal barricades retracting in an agonizing screech of metallic friction. A sudden reminder for the doctor to grease the gears to the door, he notes. "Pardon, am I interrupting a moment?"

A soft, inquisitive voice carries on the booming trail of noise from exactly where the piercing door had left off, a strange contrast in sound and intensity though no more pleasant on the ears all the while. Scout straightens himself and wipes his puffy eyes with the back of his flushed hands, lightheaded as his congested head tips the balance of his equilibrium. "Guten Tag, Herr Marino," Heinrich states with neither an undertone of warmth nor animosity to fill the sound of his voice, peering over his glasses at the thin man who enters the medibay as if treading on silken ground, bedecked in delicate, golden shoes. "Honestly, good Doctor, I feel as if I am intruding and by doing so I have to wonder if perhaps now is not the time to engage you in any sort of conversation," the man's swift, lightly spoken words, drizzled with light but noticeable hints of an Italian accent, match the man's step in what the German had always regarded to be hedonistic regality. The unmasked man with his sleek, gelled curls, square jaw, and green eyes had all come together to form the profile of one charming man by the name of Dmitri Marino.

A spy of BLU, serving mostly in the offices of the Administrator herself, the fellow European always commanded an air about him that suggested he held himself to be superior over his colleagues, as if he alone were the reason for BLU's success in recent years. Scout had hardly seen the man outside of moments such as these, subtle pockets of surprise in which the man had been able to slither his way into the conversation. Though no matter how kindly his demeanour suggested the man to be, Scout could tell that within himself festered the biggest ego man could possibly ever come to know, and now was no different. "Vat is vrong, do you need medical assistance?"

"No, Herr Doctor, I had simply heard the rumours that you and Mikhail had returned home earlier than the rest of our comrades from Rick's ranch; I was curious as to whether or not the medibay was open, is all—consider this particular visit nothing short of my own curiosity leading me in for a brief hello," the man chuckles, Heinrich raising a skeptical eyebrow, though he doesn't bother to question the man's motive for entering the bay any further."Oh dear, what's wrong with him?"

"Forget it, Marino, it does not concern you," Heinrich snaps, handing the young man a bag of bird feed and gesturing him silently toward the cages. "Lawrence if you could please feed ze birds, zey have been cooing and it is zeir lunch time, do not forget to run zeir food under ze tap, Gallileo is allergic to dust,"

"Now Doc, I must say I find it quite insulting that you would insinuate that the young man's wellbeing is not of my concern," Dmitri gasps, placing a soft hand at his chest, trailing it over the soft cashmere of his dark blue shirt tucked primly into the waist of his slacks. "After all should the young Scout prove to be so mentally unstable that he cannot Scout, then I am afraid I would have to call in Pauling for a company inspection, and I know how much you adore the woman,"

Heinrich scoffs.

"She's really a doll, a beauty of a woman, I don't understand what you do not like about her. Honestly, try working in the same building with the woman for as long as I have, see how long you can last without keeping your hands off her! But the sexual divinity of Miss Ingram's aides is not the concern of my redirected focus, but rather the reason as to why Little Larry is so broken, throwing grains to doves," Dmitri sighs sadly, the Bostonian turning to glare at the Italian. "My name ain't Little Larry, and it sure as Hell ain't one you're allowed to call me,"

"Snippy—right—in any case I'd still like to know the cause of your breakdown,"

"Home, Marino," Heinrich answers quickly, Lawrence paying the two men no mind and continuing to chuckle at the birds who flutter playfully in their cage. "He vas zinking of home and needed someone to talk to,"

"I suppose it would make sense for you to double as the overseer of mental health as well, though I'd always placed Rick as being the listener and the rationaliser. A real bright man with a real good head on his shoulders, no? Speaking of home, I must say I find it interesting that Scout did not accompany the rest of the team to Rick's for leave?"

"Vat is so curious about zat, Marino, he vas simply visiting his own home,"

"Ahah, I see, and why again are you speaking in place of him?"

"He's right, Dmitri," Scout barks in response.

"Vere vere you?"

"Me?! Well I must say I did not have the luxury of spending the last two weeks in Bella Italia—for you see, my job requires that I be here at all times, keeping a watchful eye out for the Administrator, as well as perform simple tasks she leaves up to me—nothing you'd consider worth the time it takes to explain even if I had the clearance to discuss it with you. Also note that the birds are unsanitary and should not be kept in the base, in the medibay no less,"

"Ze fighting is destroying zeir habitat, Marino, I could not sit by and vatch Jane's rockets pummel at zeir trees any longer!"

"Regardless, the medibay is not a bell tower. If the doves are not gone by time I return in a month's time I can assure you Miss Ingram will be notified, and Miss Pauling, your favourite—our favourite, shall be making a personal visit,"

"Tell her I have no time for your appointments,"

"Well I shall find time, then. Mister Fitzpatrick I do hope to see you have sorted yourself out when I return, and Mister Schmelzer, I will be informing TF Industries about the state of the Medibay—among other such curious things like Mister Fitzpatrick's whereabouts during the last two weeks. Either way I bid you all a wonderful day, and wish you all a very successful attempt at invading RED territory this coming Friday," the Italian smirks before giving them each a final look over, the door to the bay sliding shut much quicker than the man had opened it initially. "Ach, zat man!" Heinrich spits, brushing the forearms of his coat aggressively as if with the motion was swept the traces of who was arguably the doctor's least favourite comrade on the team. "I svear I cannot stand him!"

"Yeah, he's always been a bit of a fishy guy,"

"Lawrence, is everyzing okay?" the doctor asks affectionately, turning his attention to the young man who tilts the seed in his hand carefully, taking care to see they land neatly into the confines of the feeding cup. "Yeah," he nods quietly, though not before wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand and giving a great sniff. "I just don't know what to do, you know?" he continues, shutting the door to the cage and curling his fingers around the slim metal bars, folded and coiled in between their gaps. "I mean, spendin' time with Jack's pretty much what I've been doin' around here since day one,"

"Vat?! Nein," Heinrich tisks, spreading parchment paper across the surface of his work station and dropping what appeared to be a human pancreas onto the planete table with a wet and heavy plop. "You sleep in your barrack all ze time!"

"Yeah, but I spent just as much time in the van with Jack as I do here, you know,"

"Trust me, I do, and I do not like it,"

"What don't you like about it?" Scout asks nervously, the German scoffing and rolling his eyes aggressively. "I don't know, maybe ze vay you spend too much time viz your enemy who is also your lover, and zat by sleeping viz him and having to get up and rush back to ze base in time for roll call everyday you put yourself in danger?!"

"Yeah well, you ain't gotta worry 'bout that anymore, I guess,"

"I know it vill take time to let him go, time to get used to it, but try to be zankful you had time viz him at all,"

"Even my first day I ran into him, Doc. I mean, it wasn't like we was shittin' out friendship rainbows and becomin' penpals, but we definitely took notice of each other,"

"Zese are zings I should not be hearing as your doctor and colleague, Scout, your recklessness vorries me,"

"I mean, I feel like I can hardly count three months in a row where I went the whole time without spendin' time with him, whether we was hatin' each other or not,"

"Vell perhaps it is for ze best, Lawrence; now you can focus on your mission. Not to mention you vill no longer have a need to sneak from your barrack in ze middle of ze night."

"I feel like you don't even feel bad for me," Scout pouts, standing suddenly in a rising, unexpected fit of frustration, the German chirping a sharp "No!" as he turns from his scientific endeavours, looking the young, distressed man sincerely in the eye. "No, Scout, zat is not ze case," he adds tiredly, wiping the lenses of his spectacles with the dirtied hem of his white labcoat. "But I cannot help but see zis as an opportunity for you to be zankful you have not lost your life viz ze vay you go about your romance,"

"Says you," Lawrence snaps softly, puffing his cheeks and imitating the soft whistle of Socrates as the pips about in an attempt to catch his attention. "The guy who freakin' abandoned his own country to be together with a Jewish Soviet,"

"It—it is because of my perspective zat I am so desperate to varn you, Lawrence. I have seen so many zings because I let love get in ze vay of my rationale; I too can say a prayer under my breaz zat my fraternization viz Mikhail has not cost eizer of us our lives,"

"I guess…"

"I know, it is hard, and I sympazise viz you, really, but I really zink it vould be a good idea to put it behind you for now,"

"Yeah, okay, Doc, like the way you would have put Mikhail behind you just 'cause some goose stepper on the radio told you Jews are bad, huh?"

"Lawrence, I have been in your very position and I simply fear zat you too vill end up…'

"What, Doc, end up where,"

"Forget it, forget it, I do not even vant to talk about it,"

"Well…alright then," Scout sighs, looking the weary German over as he stares blankly at his wrist, closing his eyes heavily and tugging the sleeve of his jacket to fall over it once more. "Go get your rest, Scout…you vill not get any better in condition viz ze vay you are running around; doctor's orders,"

"Alright…"

"And try not to be too vorried, because even if you are not togezer, zat does not mean you are not in love."

-

"Lawrence, I cannot afford to have you keep falling behind!" the German spits over the sound of flying shells, Jane shrieking manically as he dodges an exploding rocket aimed at his feet, eyes glowing with an impenetrable sheen as the point which they all rush to take slowly transitions from a gleaming red to a rich blue. "I ain't, Doc," Scout heaves in between harsh, violent coughs, the young man even going so far as to lose his footing and sink to his knees, clutching his chest. "You never coulda capped without me, I'm here!"

"Lawrence, you can barely run!"

Heinrich turns his attention away from the Bostonian only because another whistling shell just barely grazes past himself and the Pyro he pockets, exploding into the parched soil, setting it into a small blaze of destruction before their very eyes. Sure enough the young man still stands weakened on the point, clutching his chest as if suctioning his hand against his breath prevented him from losing the pace of his fluttering heart and uneven gasps for air through the wall of sickly mucus that builds up and infects his ability to properly fight. His clothes, warn, tattered, charred and even burned off in certain parts of the fabric, gives Scout the appearance that he dons the remains of a begrimed flag and not any sort of protective garment like in actuality. Rushing toward him, the man produces his medigun from his hip, powering the hose up with a charging drone of energy, kneeling himself so he's level with the coiled figure."Scout, honestly, I zought I told you to get some rest—" he closes his eyes as yet more shells fly their way, each bang shocking the dispenser an anxious Rick tries profusely to rig up for the rest of the team, hidden behind a flimsy and horribly structured shack. The push had been reckless, but lucky enough. With Jane head of the battalion and Mikhail bringing up the rear with the inhibited Lawrence, the advantageous BLUs had scraped by with distracting the aggressive REDs just long enough to let the Russian and his comrade cap the center depot in a streak of aligning blessings none of them in their right minds had seen in their fateful stars.

"Doc, I swear I did,"

But Heinrich doesn't respond, concentrating on directing the warm radiation onto the young man's weakened frame, Scout instantly relaxing as the heated rays seep into his skin and for a second steal away from him the ailments of sickness. His cheeks, pallid and free from any of the natural pinkness that normally flushed his youthful skin, Scout swears he sees himself grow whiter as he coughs up yet more of the infection in his lungs, sucking the gluttonous phlegm from his cheeks and spitting it so it glistens on the surface of the soil next to him.

"If it weren't for me you wouldn't be cappin'!"

"Lawrence you are not fit to go any furzer!"

"Fuck that, Doc, I ain't gonna stay behind!" the young man argues firmly, coughing yet again into his elbow. "'If I ain't fit then y'all ain't getting' nowhere, 'cause it ain't like you're gonna get any cappin' done without me,"

"Doc!" Rick sputters, hobbling as if sprinting on uneven, jagged rubber. The southerner calls the man yet again, placing a pudgy hand to root his hard hat atop his head. The clanking of his tools stand out sharper and bolder than even the flare of the rockets and the gunfire itself, and as the older Engineer nears them, both the Scout and Medic know his formidable expression does not harbour any good news. "Now I ain't a man to cry wolf, but we've got ourselves in a might of jam, and I reckon it's gonna be a Hell of a ride weaslin' our way out of it,"

Had Scout the energy he would have groaned at the statement, but instead he closes his eyes, falling dully against the cool metal of the point; his head and ears throb, but regardless the closing of his eyes does him much good. "We've pushed too far, Sawbones, and I can't get a moments' time to even get a little sentry goin',"

"Take it up viz Jane, I am not ze one zroving ze commands!" Heinrich barks, taking the waves off Scout for only a second in order to point them onto the portly, overalled man who stands before him. "If ve have pushed too far, discuss it viz him, I cannot do anyzing about it ven you all are getting injured left and right,"

"Jane's engine's runnin' but he sure as Hell ain't drivin' it, and if somebody doesn't do somethin' then I'm afraid he's leadin' us head on into a slaughterhouse,"

"Ach," Heinrich growls, taking the protective helmet from off the man's balding head, surveying it gently for wounds or points of trauma. "Do you all not see I am tending to an ill Lawrence?!"

"I saw that, Doc, 'course I did, we all did, none of us are blind," Rick grumbles looking Scout caringly in the eye. "You alright son?"

"Yeah, sure thing, Hardhat…"

"…Look, Heinrich, our current choices are to either keep pushin' forward like this—even though doin' so wouldn't leave us any time to regroup—or we all fall back and defend this point before they come back, stampedin' and tryin' to take it back,"

"Naturally I vould suggest ve fall back!"

"Then that way I can at least get a dispenser and sentry goin'!"

"Vell—get started, I vill ask Mikhail to talk to Jane,"

"Here's our next problem, I'm all out of metal,"

"Ach!"

"I know, Doc, my news just ain't gettin' any better, thing is, there's some right in RED's convenient little depot, right over there,"

"I see it!"

"But they've got that son of a bitch Sniper lined up, right in the attic—if anyone were to try stretchin' across the field they'd be dead faster than a slug racin' along in the Indy 500,"

"So zen vat?! I don't understand vat I should do! I am saving my Uber for ze right moment!"

"If you can get Lawrence here all nice and patched up I'm sure he can sprint and grab me that box before that little camper can even set up his little tent,"

Heinrich glances at the blanching young man, who would usually have no objection to the plan; but as he was less than healthy, and no longer too secure in the knowledge that the Australian would not harm him in accordance with his feelings for the Bostonian, he hesitates to give the two men leaning above him a nod of approval."Fine, ve vill do it,"

"Doc—Doc no—"

"You vill be fine, Scout, you and I boz know ze Sniper vould never hurt you," Heinrich assures Lawrence cryptically, sharing with him a meaningful expression before digging in a large medikit. "I have somezing here, it should clear you up,"

"Why didn't you give it to me before?!"

"It's a needle, Lawrence,"

"What?! FUCK NO—!"

"Rick, hold him down!" the German snarls, and together the two men successfully pin down the struggling scout who yelps from pain as a thick syringe plunges into the young man's veins, Scout screaming as a thick, brown liquid enters his bloodstream. "What in the world is that, Doc?!"

"It's a mixture I have been vorking on," the German explains, rubbing Scout soothingly in an attempt to calm the Bostonian's nerves. "Morphine and liquefied radiation from ze medigun. It vorks as a temporary Uber, zough vere ze Uber grants invincibility, zis here only makes you feel invincible,"

"Meanin'?"

"Meaning zat as long as Lawrence keeps his eyes on ze metal and hightails it, he should be safe from ze Sniper's line of sight,"

"But he's so weak, Doc!"

"He von't feel it if ze injection vorks as it should,"

"As it should?! Now don't take this the wrong way, Doc, but I can't say I'm all too sure about injectin' mystery into a sick little thing like him, 'specially if you don't know how he'll react to it,"

"He vill be fine, ze Sniper vill not hurt him," Heinrich snaps, Mikhail rushing to the crowd slowly forming on the already captured point, the Russian eyeing them all inquisitively and bringing his minigun to his chest. "Mikhail, please tell Jane to halt progress, zat ve cannot push under zese conditions. Ve need time near ze dispenser, half of us are out of ammunition,"

"Heinrich, you know Crazy Jane do not listen to plans! Anytime we try it does not work!"

"Tell him zen zat I vill not move forvard if zey do, zat I refuse to heal,"

"Now Doc, I think you and I both know Crazy Ole Jane ain't a nickname we toss around at the base for kicks, he'd still push with or without medical support,"

"Look at ze rest of us, Rick, no one vould follow ze man to suicide no matter how hard he were to scream; ze rest of us may be insane, but novhere near as delusional as he!" Heinrich shouts, struggling to lift Scout to his feet. "Heinrich,"

"He may choose to push vizout me, but I can guarantee ze rest of you vould not be so foolish," Heinrich explains with finality, Mikhail lifting the young man with whom the German still struggles in one quick swoop. "Then I stay behind with you, Heinrich," he growls, as if the sternness of his voice were meant to drive home his point."Of course, Mikhail, I vould not let you go vizout me," the man smiles weakly, rising to his feet and clasping a hand on Scout's shoulder. "How do you feel, Junge?"

"Dude, I could take on the fuckin' world…" Scout exhales blissfully, his body slack and loose, his eyes rolling pleasurably in the back of his head."You only have so long before ze effects vear off, Lawrence. Grab it now vhile ze paz is clear, do not vorry if ze Sniper catches sight of you," Heinrich growls encouragingly, tilting the young man's head to face a metallic, shadowed depot nestled just beyond the choke point, a formidable fortress guarded by the impossible. "He vould never dare to hurt his Lawrence."

Heinrich's breath, hot, shaky, and gusty in the cavity of Scout's congested ear, still fills him with a heroic euphoria, an inexplicably uplifting galvanization. He runs as if tripping through clouds, weightless and unanchored to any ground despite the physics behind his mass and a stratosphere through which he metaphorically traipsed. Even as the empty, steady dirt of the alternate flank route appears to speed in a sepia mesh of light beneath his winged feet, the pebbles and stones wobble as if rocked by a sudden overwhelming fit, destroying with it any pretense of tectonic solidarity. Suddenly it didn't seem to matter that his eyes were puffed to slits, his nostrils clogged to pinpricks, his chest bottlenecked with pale, light green mire and ooze. Even as a violent rupture escapes from Scout's prickling, chapped lips, he finds his jump over the naturally dug fissure to be as agile and fleeting as the deceptive, nonexistent sky through which he soars. In front of him, the foreground swirls as if composed of smoky, frothing milk, bubbled over and boiled to a point of such extremity that everything around him that was perceptible has been reduced to a gaseous contrail. Should he twist too quickly, his vision blurs. But the smudging of his vision wasn't a sluggish, inebriated impediment, but rather a side effect of the truly intoxicating illusion that he, Lawrence, was as untouchable as they come.

He doesn't notice the scream of approaching REDs—the Demoman and Soldier, to be exact—nor their sudden sprint to the young man with the invulnerable flesh. Even the red dot, swiveling about the window like a spastic fly avoid the swat of a heavy human hand, is quickly forgotten as it temporarily blinds the young man, the man responsible for the laser's visibility bringing it with marvelous precision to center itself watchfully on Scout's forehead. The slight shifting in the window—a result of his watcher's sudden twitch as it hits him heavily just who it was that was breaking into an explosive rigged compound without backup whatsoever—even goes unnoticed by Scout as his smirk tightens across his lips, his eyes locking their sight onto a small, cork box of metal and screws, the very materials necessarily to fabricate the dispenser Rick needed."Lawrence, you bloody idiot," Jack grumbles to himself as he zooms his scope in just enough to catch the weaving shadow, casting itself against the wall and windows of the darkened depot. The Australian lowers his frame in the creaking attic of the barn lying just opposite of the warehouse, falling back deeper into the shadows. "You bloody fuckin' idiot."

"Caught 'em like a twitchy rabbit, lad!"

Tavish throws a salute to the Soldier who stands a few meters away, taking a swig of the glass bottle clutched in his fist. Sniper's eyes widen and the sunglasses, snug upon the bridge of his nose, slide forward and dangle luckily on the tip of it, the Australian jumping as within his scope he sees the Scotsman's stickybombs placed strategically along the foundation of the warehouse's woodwork. "Bloody—"

The man curses under his breath as his heart races, his palms so indisputably sweaty he has no choice but to lower the heavy rifle he cradles within them. Tavish, engaged in a conversation with their Medic distracting enough so as to prolong the detonation of the building, seems to take no notice of the dashing Australian who nears him, the man cut and bruised due to the magnitude of his escape—he'd been scraped by irregular planks whilst skipping whole flights of stairs in the shack of a building in an attempt to get to the battleground before it had been too late—

"Y'mae got two o'those eyes, lad, but ye got half th' brain!" Tavish bites back at the shrieking Jane, who brandishes his shovel wildly at the man he once considered to be his other half. He stands proudly, chest puffed out and his fists curled at his hips, his menacing grin leering at the BLUs a few hundred feet away. "Aye, Jack me old lad," he grins kindly, giving the stunned Australian a strong, friendly pat on the shoulder. "We caught ourselves thaer Scout! Looked awfully Peely-Wally! I im'gine the old gripes o'er thaer would be willin' tae pay a real fortune for his safe return,"

"What d'you mean, mate," Jack begins darkly, Tavish indulging in warm laughter before waving an innocent hand at the man who usually considered himself to be on excellent terms with his comrade. "Nothin' tae risky,thought maybe'd be a bit of ae interest in ae wee cash grab—liven things up ae little, aye? T'e battle's been's slow as rained out porridge on a winter night; thae pay me enough, thae get 'im back 'nd I won't blow t'e thing tae smithereens!" he laughs once more before imitating an explosion with his arms, Jack's eyes widening nervously. "Y—Y'mean blowin' it with him inside?!"

"Thae're talking aet o'er now—Ae proposed 'em with t'e aedea—we'll see what choice thae make!"

"Wos'e doin' in there—"

"Scramblin' around, lookin' for maetal, prolly! He' not quite on top o'his game, slinkin' about like a slug dipped aen salt—quite a dashing Scout, ey m'boy?!"

"Tavish," Jack begins quickly, breathing heavily and darting his eyes nervously before clearing his throat, inspiration hitting him suddenly and violently. "Their Pyro—"

"What about 'im?!"

"He—he slipped past the blockade you've got—go take care o'him,"

"What?! Ae thought we agreed no one crossed lest thae wanted thaer little Scout gibbed!"

"NO!"

"What is it, lad?!"

"He's leakin' gasoline on the base, go back, please, take 'im out, mate, go—go get the Medic 'nd get goin'!" Jack shouts, Tavish raising an eyebrow but slowly making a sprint toward the base nonetheless. "I'll go hide 'nd watch for stragglers attemptin' t'rescue him, now go!" Jack shouts, wasting no time in kicking the warehouse door in once Tavish is out of sight. "GOD FUCKIN' DAMMIT, LAWRENCE!" Jack bellows, kicking over crates in an impressive demonstration of his strength, the realization that not much time remained between finding him and Tavish's eventual return. "I SWEAR T'BLOODY GOD, I'LL KILL YA FOR FIGHTIN' IN YOUR CONDITION Y'LITTLE SHIT!" he roars, venturing deeper into the back and throwing looks over his shoulder to assure the Scotsman had not returned. "Oh what, y'ignorin' me now?!" he asks hysterically, though his stomach plummets as it hits him he shouts a dead air.

"Where are ya, Lawrence," he asks sternly, humourlessly, crawling on his hands and knees as the ceiling dips too low for his height. "I ain't in here t'hurt ya, Scout, he's got the place rigged with bombs 'nd you'll be done if y'don't—he's asleep…"

Sniper rolls his eyes at the young man, unconscious and slumped over a stocked pile of splintery crates, the small cork chest of metal tucked against his chest."Hope scrap metal was worth it, kid," Jack rolls his eyes before grunting, pulling Scout against him and dragging him out as best he can without bumping his head, lifting him into his arms with his knees as he checks outside to make sure the rest of his mates were preoccupied with the bluff about the Pyro sabotaging the base."He's out cold……" he grumbles, craning his head and stealing an apprehensive look at the knocked out young man, bringing a hand to his forehead and feeling as a weight lifts itself from him, the realization settling in right away he was, thankfully, still alive.

"Well bugger me, I can't jus' take y'back t'your BLUs…," Jack shakes his head, looking up to the sky, and finding that, for the first time in all his twenty years of questioning God and the validity of his existence, he stares up, beyond the clouds and any realm of doubt, begging Him for any sort of divine aid he could obtain from the Heavens."I can't leave y'here, either…" Jack swears again, the Australian peering around him in a full circle, curling his arm under Lawrence's locked knees in an attempt to better support him against his frame. "Right."

Jack coughs, brushing dust and soot from the young man's face as he carries him gingerly back up the rickety steps, hoping with a hint of dread that they would not give way with any added weight from the young man. Yet the higher he climbs, Jack finds that his mind shoots at him only a million, fast paced, scathing remarks about how foolish he was to bring the young man into his nest. Lawrence was inarguably beyond enemy lines, well beyond the point where Heinrich, the only one who knew of their romance besides Luc, could attempt to venture in unnoticed and take the Bostonian off his hands and back to his own comrades. Rightly so, Jack notes; Scout, in his condition, had no business fighting, and each second spent plunged so deeply into the fray was a second for with the Catholic young Lawrence more likely than not sputtered a soft prayer, hidden under his raspy voice and weak, scratchy strain on his vocal chords. "God Dammit…" Jack growls indignantly as he strips himself of his vest, draping it across Lawrence's frame and using the young man's own shoulder bag as a makeshift pillow—it would have to do given the circumstances. Sandwiched in between the wall and the protection of Scout's calves, he uses his seated figure to cloak the still sleeping Scout who coils like a breathing apostrophe at his feet, the scope at his eye now watchful for teammates of his own.

-

The eruption triggered by Tavish's rig on the depot was so violently startling Jack found himself yelping from a sudden and deeply rooted fear, lunging himself downward to cover the resting Scout, who still slept on his side, knees bound to his chest. Chunks and wedges of wood and metallic projectiles fling through the air at formidable angles and trajectories, razor sharp, burning, piercing the air with soft whistles as if the airborne chunks of death were more akin to duds of firecrackers.

Death seemed to be taking it's sweet time. Too long of a time, in fact.

"Maybe all that duck 'nd cover drivel 'n school had it's uses, seein' I'm still breathin'," Jack slowly cranes his head upward, frowning instantly at the sight of the thick hazes of billowing smoke and its hastened rise toward the sky, visible directly out the window he hitherto used to carry out stealthy vigilance. Following the visual of smoldering destruction is its relative, the keen smell of ashy matter. The man chokes and clutches his throat as flakes of charred industrial scraps corrupt the air quality, the man literally breathing in everything the warehouse contained. He brings a hand to cover Lawrence's nose, craning his neck all the while to check the condition of the depot—though nothing remained, except a few crackling embers and a scorched ring of black, an unknowing mark of where it used to be. "Tavish, you idiot! That was our only depot outside of the base, you drunken klutz!"

"Aye! Ae haven't had a lick tae drink aen ae while, now!"

"You took out the supply drunk, you bumbling, disgrace of a Scot!"

"No need tae bring ma family name intae it, laddie!"

"Shit, Soldier's gonna be pissed the rest o'the day…" Sniper grumbles to himself, lowering his eyes from the arguing men below, watching as Luke, their Pyro, attempts to extinguish the flames. "Now ae mean aet, mate, I di'n't set ae thing off nae—"

"He's tellin' the truth, dude, I think BLU' Heavy might have shot at it—they're tryin' to regroup for an ambush,"

"Aye, ae depot doesn't mean ae thing when yae think thaer Scout waent up aen flaems with aet,"

"Shit, you mean you got their Scout, too?! High five, bro!"

Sniper grumbles under his breath as Samuel, RED's Scout, cheers with the Soldier and Demoman haughtily. "I always hated that fucker." Jack scowls, the man admittedly defensive of the Bostonian despite hating the fucker at the moment himself. "That oughta slow those BLU bastards down, then; they wanted a push? Hope they can take a shove like losin' that pussy little bitch," The man starts as Lawrence moans a little, shifting and stretching, bringing his palms flat against the dusty attic floor, instantly coughing as he takes in his first few conscious breaths. "Oi!"

Scout jumps, his eyes wavering over Jack's frame as they adjust to his present situation, the young man looking back and forth between the window and the hunched Sniper, cat like in stillness, ferociously on guard. "QUIT LOOKIN' OUT THE WINDOW BEFORE THEY SEE YOU POPPIN' YOUR HEAD OUT!" Jack snarls, pushing Scout toward the ground dominantly, eyes scanning the field below to make sure no one noticed his head bobbing in between the soot covered panes, cracked due to the boom of the explosion. "W-where the Hell am I, Jack…?" Scout asks tiredly, rubbing his head and eyes, sniffing a large amount of snot back into his nostrils, gulping as it slides unappetizingly down his clammy throat. "How did I get up here?! And what the Hell's goin' on?!"

"You tell me, Lawrence, you're the one sleepin' in the middle o'battles in RED depots like the bright little lamp y'are—"

"Sleepin'?! I didn't fall asleep on nothin', I was goin' to get metal for Rick, and—aw, shit, man!" Scout groans out of sudden realization, slapping the palm of his hand with a loud smack against his dusty forehead. "Fuckin' Rick, I—he needed the metal for his dispenser—"

"Well y'found it, 'lright!" Jack barks, glaring unamusedly at the stubborn Bostonian, tossing him the box of metal with an aggressive fling. The box skips carelessly in dull thumps across the floor, Lawrence watching each tumble reproachfully. "I'll have y'know that your arse fell asleep lookin' for it, for whatever Goddamn reason, then the next thing I know Tavish has the thing lined up with stickies, tellin' your comrades he'd blow it up if they tried advancin' without payin' up a little first!"

"Dude, what?!"

"'Nd what d'ya know, here I am, savin' Lawrence like always!"

"Dude, if you're so fuckin' tired of it, then just let me fuckin' die next time!" Scout spits, dusting off his snot soaked blue shirt. "Since it's obviously what you fuckin' want!"

"Don't even get a thank you,"

"Look Jack, I ain't got time to make this all about you right now?! I mean, thanks, but I ain't got no clue how long I've been out, or—or what's goin' on down there with my friends,"

"Look at you, pretendin' like y'give any sort o'shit about anyone other than yourself,"

"Fuck you, Jack, " Scout snaps, tossing the man his vest aggressively, the man catching it and holding it to his breast. "I ain't got time for your fuckin' butthurt when my comrades think I'm dead, and I ain't even got a clue if they're alive or not!"

"You've got time in the world for everyone 'cept the man you claim t'love,"

"Who the fuck said I loved you?! Let me out, Jack, move, I ain't kiddin'—"

"Y'really think I'm gonna let y'out, Lawrence?! 'Case y'forgot you're right deep in RED territory 'nd allegedly dead, so walkin' out there'd be a death sentence for you with the whole entire army o'RED down there!" Jack shouts, Scout clearly hesitating, though his tense frame loosens as he begrudgingly heeds the man's words, his eyes never once letting up on their glaring, sideways dart on Jack's own formidable expression. "Why don't you jus' sleep everythin' off, let me take care of it like always," Jack snaps, Scout clutching his stomach and sliding his back against the corner of a wall out of sight from the window. He chews on his lip, coughing wetly as Jack paces about nervously, his shoes hollow against the dried, brittle floor. "Dude, stop pacin' you're makin' me nervous,"

"Of all the things t'set y'on edge 'bout this situation, 'nd it's me walkin' back 'nd forth,"

"Look, can you just stop with the snark and the stompin'?! I'm tryin' to think,"

"Hmph—you, think—what in the world could y'possibly be thinkin' ab—"

"How the fuck I fell asleep,"

"Wow, what a brain teaser," Jack snaps, narrowing his eyes at the young man. "You're sick 'nd not gettin' enough sleep, then tryin' t'run about, 'course you're gonna wear yourself out,"

"Dude, it's more than that, okay?! I was worn out, but I wasn't full blown tired,"

"You were coughin' about 'nd staggerin' behind your mates! Don't think I didn't see ya out there!"

"Then you know I was still doin' my job at least, it ain't like I was fallin' asleep completely, Jack. Maybe it had somethin' to do with that injection,"

"What injection?!"

"Doc injected me with this stuff, I—I dunno, all he said was that it was supposed to make me go faster,"

"What?!"

"He said he never tested it before, so it coulda been that stuff makin' me tired,"

"He's just testin' things on ya in the middle o'battle?! When you're sick?! What in the world would he risk your health for?!"

"Rick needed metal for a dispenser, 'cause we couldn't push the way we were,"

"What?! So then y'mean your Doc's just shovin' needles in ya over some bloody metal?!"

"look at you, carin',"

"Oi, I might as well jus' join BLU, eh?! With the way I'm savin 'nd lookin' out for ya, I do a better job protectin' 'nd lookin' out for ya than any o'them!"

"Dude, they're great friends and always got my back!"

"I'll be havin' words with your Doc, Lawrence,"

"Great, you gonna menstruate all over him too?!"

"I'M ONLY LOOKIN' OUT FOR YOU, LAWRENCE! HE COULD HAVE GOT YOU BLOODY KILLED!"

"Don't you fuckin' talk about Heinrich that way, he knows what he's doin',"

"Right, y'look like y'really believe it, green 'nd shaky voiced as y'are,"

"Jack!" a shrill, worried hiss calls from the creaking door, both men turning to gaze at their visitor; Jack motions to hide Lawrence in an embrace, the effort fruitless, the young man visible despite the cloak of the Australian's arms around his frame. As his eyes register the thin figure of the towering Frenchman, his figure bedecked in cobwebs and sweat, he knows not whether he should feel eased or just as worried that Luc stands before them as opposed to anyone else; he couldn't afford the man's presence ticking Lawrence off at such a delicate time. "Where is Lawrence—"

"What?! Why!" Jack growls, covering the young man's mouth as he goes to retort back at his questioning stepfather, the Spy wrenching his balaclava from his head in one fellow swoop, breathing from his mouth and eyeing the Bostonian in his arms from the corner of his eye. He says nothing, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths in order to calm his pacing heart. Jack slowly draws his hand away from the young man's lips, thankful that Scout remains quiet, save the small growls of aggression that rumble in his chest at the sight of the man. "What's goin' on, Luc—"

"I came up 'ere to ask you zhe same zhing," the man snaps quickly, glaring out the window, leaning the weight of his body upon the tips of his left foot's toes. "Somezhing about my stepson falling asleep inside of a supply post lined wizh Tavish's explosives zhat I now see 'as been reduced to rubble, from what I've managed to gazher,"

"You sure sound concerned as fuck," Scout spits from the gaps of Sniper's arms cradled around his head. "Did you not see zhe way I came running up zhe steps asking where you were?" the older man rolls his eyes, Lawrence pouting and saying nothing in return. "Glad to see you are still alive,"

"Right," Scout smirks again, going to lean his head against Sniper's chest before remembering that perhaps it was no longer in the realm of decency to do so; which was a shame, the man was so warm...

"Merde, I will 'ave you know your doctor is negotiating wizh Tavish, 'e appears to be in tears,"

"Shit, what?!" Scout yelps, attempting to break from the Australian's stronghold and scramble to the window himself.

"Sit your bloody arse back down!"

"Let go of me, Jack!"

"You can't jus' go out there!"

"You don't own me, you can't tell me what the fuck I can and can't do—neither of you fuckin' can!" Scout yelps, gasping as the Australian expels him violently from his arms. "Fine, y'wanna go out there 'nd get yourself killed?! Be my motherfuckin' guest, Lawrence," Jack growls, Scout snatching his backpack and slinging it moodily over his shoulder. "I'm through with carin'!"

"Then don't—the fuck do you want, Luc?!" Scout spits at the man who stands in front of the attic's door, shaking his head at Scout himself. "I did not 'ave intentions of phoning your mozher and telling 'er 'er youngest son died tragically due to 'is recklessness,"

"So what, you're just gonna stand in my way and make me watch while you fuckin' REDs torment my friends?!" Scout whimpers, a shudder racing down his spine as it hits him that his words reduce two of the closest men in his life to nothing but an anagram. "I reckon we are, Lawrence, 'nd y'best be bloody thankful the two of us're willin' t'keep you safe despite the way y'treat us,"

"I treat you?! Fuck if you two are delusional fuckers,"

"Lovely Little Lawrence," Luc spits, Jack taking his post near the window.

"Fuck, he's bawlin' his eyes out, mate,"

"'Cause he thinks I'm dead, now let me down so I can show him I ain't!"

"And zhen escalate zhe problem furzher by proving you are still alive, emerging from zhe Sniper's post a whole 'alf 'our after your alleged deazh?!"

"Sounds foolproof," Jack scoffs, bringing a tired hand to his face. "It certainly is if 'e is attempting to remedy zhe fact 'e's still breazhing as fast 'e can,"

"Right, just keep talkin' about me like I ain't here,"

"Ignorin' you 'nd your input's the only way we can get anythin' done around here in a mature way,"

"Jack, please," Luc sighs, pacing himself, the tense Scout however eyeing the door nervously. "And so keepin' me in here is a better plan?! Either way I'm outta bounds or whatever, what if someone comes up and sees me hidin' up here?!"

"We're tryin' t'think of a way t'get y'out, Lawrence," Sniper growls, Luc and the man sharing a weary look. "What if—pardon if it seems razher 'arebrained—what if I entertain Tavish and zhe Doctor wizh zhe proposition of surrendering?"

"What?!"

"While we discuss zhe conditions of BLU's capitulation, Lawrence sneaks wizh you back to zhe rest of 'is comrades, Lawrence claiming to 'ave been knocked out temporarily by zhe explosion,"

"You mean you want us to surrender?! Like, surrender surrender?!"

"Gravel pit ain't worth your life, Lawrence, plus's hardly as if you BLUs don't have the rest o'the region surroundin' conquered; 's hardly a loss,"

"Dude, Jane—Jane would never settle with surrendering, Doc already tried earlier, he's gonna psuh 'til his boot's the last thing left to stand on the fuckin' point,"

"Jane's too busy buildin' a memorial outta stone to the brave Scout that fell asleep in a warehouse 'nd gave his life over a dispenser, we hardly knew yer arse,"

"Considering it is I who bureaucratically represents zhis battalion in regards to TF Industries, I can simply forge cancellation of today's attempted siege if need be—zhough I'd razher explore our options before committing fraud on such a level, zhe Administrator would be involved if word got out and zhat would not 'elp,"

"Well if anyone checks the killfeed soon 'nd sees his death wasn't registered, it'll raise some questions, mate,"

"Zhen time is short,"

"Right,"

"Okay," Luc sighs again, exchanging a quick glance with his stepson. "Where are your comrades?"

"On the point—"

"Which one?!"

"I dunno, the one on the left—Soldier had it labeled A or somethin',"

"Jack, if I give you my PDA, can you disguise as one of Lawrence's team mates and get 'im back to safety?"

"I dunno a thing 'bout spyin', Luc, I can't operate that thing!"

"Zhe contraption will take care of appearance. You will not need to act, as you will not be trying to convince anyone of anyzhing. You are using it merely as a temporary diversion, so zhat you do not stand out,"

"Yeah, but—the buttons, 'nd knowin' when t'disguise, how long it takes for the shiftin' t'work, I—I didn't exactly graduate from Spy Academy, mate,"

"Who cares, Jack, just come on, let's go," Lawrence pipes, tugging gently on his sleeve, Luc digging in his pocket for his cigarette case. "Zhe zhird button from zhe left will bring up a menu and a list of disguises registered wizh zhe identities of BLU's current settings. Zhe green button switches teams and is razher gaudy, take care you do not press it,"

"Got it,"

"Only zis button, and press only when be'ind cover and when certain you are secluded, and allow at least four seconds for zhe disguise to take place,"

"'Kay,"

"Do not disguise until Lawrence gives you zhe okay, and follow 'is lead,"

"Oh lord, won't that give me away right away?! That anyone's followin' his command?!"

"Ha ha ha, Jack, you gonna be here all week with those jokes?!"

"I trust you bozh, for some strange reason—Lawrence, stay safe, and Jack, keep 'im safe,"

"Where're you goin'?!" Lawrence spits, the Frenchman slipping a cigarette from the case before handing the contraption away to the purse lipped Sniper, Luc adjusting his tie. "I 'ave to play my part as zhe negotiator—please remember to tell your team mates zhat you 'ave surrendered and zhat it is imperative zhey do not cause a scene over zhe fact zhat you are truly alive, if I am still discussing zhe terms of zhe surrender when you get back to your base and zhey bring attention to your safe condition, zhen I can assure you zhings will get awkward and much, much more complicated,"

"Wait, I'm confused,"

"It doesn't matter, zhe only zhing you need to worry about is getting back to zhe base safely—Jack, remember zhe controls, and do not break it, is it expensive!" Luc nods with finality before slipping through the attic door without another word. "See? He's fightin' for ya,"