"I'm a grown man, Scout, a grown man who's seen all kinds'o shit'n who's lived in all sorts'o places; 's no need't worry 'bout me jus' 'cause y'maybe don't catch me out the glimpse'o your eye for a few hours! You'll drive yourself mad if you obsess over stupid details like that. My own mum doesn't even work'erself up over where I am like you do; don't get me wrong, gremlin, I love ya'nd keep an eye out for ya too, always, but I can handle m'self, 'nd I know you've got your own back covered. 'S another thing; Don't ever forget 'bout your own safety, 'n'specially don't become so bogged down over thoughts'o me that you lose track'o your sense of engagement during battle!"
The three week old words of Sniper played in a continuous round, Scout's mind filling with noise, resonating in the clearest timbre any of his memories had ever been known to be. Every scathing nuance of the man's tone etches into Scout's auditory sense of recollection as if the lanky Australian were reassuring him of his self reliance now, in this very moment.
Yet against the judgment of the man Scout would say he held rather dear to himself, despite Sniper's insistence, he can only sit with his thin lips tugging downwards in an anxious state of contemplation, the mystery surrounding Sniper's location having been an uncracked enigma since having last seen each that night nearly three weeks ago to begin with.
He uncrosses his legs, placing his bare feet against the cold marble floor, his bunk creaking as the displacement of weight rocks the flimsy metal bedframe. Scout scans the battlefield below, lifting and unbolting the sil and sticking his head out of the window, Spring taking an aggressive swipe at the Bostonian and rushing bursts of earthy wind in clouds of refreshing breath into his bedroom.
The sun, setting slowly on this fine Monday, leads its downward path to the closure of yet another day, leaving an orangish trace on the eggshell tinted walls (Scout liked the warmth of the peachy white compared to the original slate grey, and found he did a rather good paint job himself).
Plastered along them are small, ripped and somewhat faded posters of the Sox he'd had since childhood, a round mounted clock and a spotted mirror next to the dresser pressed against the wall, a few letters his brothers had sent him since his deployment to 2Fort sticking out haphazardly from a drawer that can barely close, it is stuffed so full.
Scout glances over the details of his bedroom in an attempt to sway his mind from the startling anxiety that rushed his heart and dampened his palms with the sweat of fear driven excretion, an obsessive compulsive swivel of his eyes preoccupying him just enough so that he successfully prevents the brutal images of a horribly maimed Sniper suffering under the dregs of a death that seems unable to come.
So maybe Scout was a little more than worried on Sniper's behalf. So maybe his teeth clacked a little bit and his heart throbbed in a violent pace, straining on his breast and lungs as he tried to catch a soft breath. And sure, maybe Scout wouldn't rest until finding Sniper on his own.
Scout takes a light jacket from somewhere off his cluttered floor, zipping the fabric so it hugs his chest, Scout not even bothering in his one tracked dash to don his usual cap or headset. His pace quickens as he takes two frantic looks left and right, the residential wing of the base empty, though he can hear the faint echoes (or rather screams, Scout concludes with an eerie tug in his stomach) of Demoman and the exasperated barks of Heinrich seeping from down below in the cavernous medibay.
He picks up a sprint like pace (though someone of Scout's speed mustn't exactly try for such a stride), the boy gasping a little as his heart pumps, fueled by the source of emotional and physical stimulation. The traction of his cleats however prove themselves to be less than reliable as his feet slip about in wobbly tremors, the smell of disinfectant implying that their neat freak of a Pyro had been mopping again.
Scout however does not trip as he stumbles, sliding his way past the main resupply and skipping a few of the wooden steps in the courtyard, the boy biting down on his lip as it comes down to the decision to take either the pipes or the general exit of the bridge.
"Hoer auf zu weinen, Dummkopf! So viel Weh tut es ja auch nicht!" Medic's voice seeps from the basement, Scout stopping in his tracks to steal a further listen, overcome with intrigue.
"I don't understand ye, Doc—GWARRRRGGGGHHHHHH!"
"If you are not understanding me, zen ze experiment is proving to be a failure! Beweg dich nicht und gerade gucken—"
Scout winces as the devastating screams of the Demoman can be heard from the basement once more, Scout all too familiar with he Doc's "German Speaking" Experiments—this theory that, with just the right voltage, he can manipulate one's brain into understanding German through shock treatment...
He whistles at the reminder of own his days as a "test subject", the phrase, "verstehst du mich jetzt oder muss ich's nochmal versuchen?!" still sending shivers through Scout's traumatised mind and memory.
Still, it matters little when Scout's mind flutters back onto Sniper and his whereabouts, the Bostonian nodding as he makes a break for the bridge, hoping no REDS are keeping a defensive watch—
"ONE MORE TIP TOE SON'N YOU'LL BE WISHIN' YOU WERE NEVER BORN!"
'Jane' Scout groans internally, his arms falling to his side defeatedly and Scout slumps into a deflated grimace, the stocky Soldier marching in step with his shotgun over his shoulder, the man's unclasped helmet bouncing wildly in his stride. He'd heard his comrades joke in the past that Jane had a tendency to catch them all at the worst of times, some of them being caught even more than once. Despite the warnings and tired sighs he'd experienced through second hand on the red blooded Soldier's behalf, Scout could never say he was expecting to experience the inconvenience himself.
Scout hadn't counted on Jane alright.
"Look at me when I am talking to you, Private!" The man barks, and Scout twists around in aggressive, unamused surprise, Soldier prodding his chest with an intrusive forefinger.
"One more step and you would have been out of bounds, boy! Do you know what that means?!"
"I—uh—what?"
"I asked you a question, Scout!"
"I—uh—n-no"
"No sir!"
"No—sir..."
"You would have been in direct violation of Ordinance 25-3C, look it up! All mercenaries are restricted to the confines of their respective bases for the exact duration of twenty four hours after battle!"
"Does it look like I give a flyin'—?!"
"DID I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK, PRIVATE?!"
Scout grumbles, but decides that at this point, staying silent and letting the man ramble until out of steam would be the best course of action.
"I HAVE KILLED TOO MANY KRAUTS IN COLD BLOOD TO BE RIDICULED IN FRONT OF MY OWN COMPANY!"
'...what company?!'
"You think you're so tough, with that smirk?! Looks like we've got ourselves a troublemaker, boys!"
'Who else is he fuckin' talkin' to?!'
"You like bendin' rules, boy?! How about I bend your spine and eat your ribs, traitor—!"
"Jane, 's'alright!" Scout sighs, making slight shoving motions with his hands to calm the fellow American down. "You ain't gotta fuckin' eat me, shit—!"
"If you even think of stepping out of this base things will not be alright, Sally!" Soldier snaps, clicking his heels and placing his fingers to his helmet in an "L" formation.
'Dude is fuckin'quackers,' Scout shakes his head, inching his way past the stout man and headed back toward the battlements.
"I DID NOT GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO LEAVE! DROP AND GIMMIE TWENTY, BOY! HUP! ONE! TWO! THREE—"
Scout wheezes as he keeps up with Soldier's calls, shaking his head solemnly all the while and trying to ignore the curling antsiness that staggers with each adrenaline surging push up he provides for Soldier's satisfaction.
"Jane! Vhat is ze reason for all zis noise?!"
'oh thank God; someone with a little bit of fuckin' sense—!'
"Good day, Doc! Lawrence, our designated Scout, was seen at 1800 hours attempting to escape the perimeters of BLU base—an automatic breach of international law—!"
"Spare me ze details, I could hear you from ze medibay, Quazzelbaer! You are being ridiculous! Do you even have proof ze Scout vas attempting to leave?!"
"A real Soldier does not need proof, Field Medic!"
"Doc!" Scout whimpers, Soldier shrieking and prodding the boy's back with his standard shovel.
"I did not permit you to stop, boy!"
"Jane, I do not vish to pry on the disciplining of your cadets, but I sent ze boy to fetch me some metal down from ze pipes, in ze deposit ve have near ze emergency medikits—you are impeding upon my experiments, upon science!"
"Gah, why didn't you say so?! Dismissed, boy! But do not let me catch you outside of this base, or I will have your contractterminated!"
"Sir, yes...sir," Scout stands at a half hearted attention, Heinrich standing behind him with eyebrows raised nearly into his hairline.
"Good day! Ten HUT!"
With the clanks of Soldier's gear and iron helmet, the man leads a one man march toward the battlements, shooting sharply around the corner.
"Thanks man," Scout whispers, shaking his head and grimacing after the long waddled Soldier. "What the fuck is up with Jane?! He's fuckin' nuts!" Scout sighs, though he chuckles darkly as he tries to name one person on the team who wasn't; maybe Engineer—then again he rather enjoyed mutilating himself, and Scout often had to wonder if engineering was only some sort of thin pretense for the butchering he wrought unto himself...
"You know he upholds ze decrees viz much importance, vhy in all ze vorld vould you attempt leaving ze base if you knew he vas vatching?!"
"I didn't know he was right there, Doc, fuckin' whacko just showed up outta nowhere!"
"Be more careful next time, Scout, you know he vill not hesitate to discharge you over ze smallest zing!"
"Right, Doc, but I don't give two shits 'bout no contracts right now—"
"Scout, vhy are you insisting upon being so reckless—?!"
"I ain't even bein' reckless, man, I'm just—" Scout casts a longing look toward the sealed exit of the base, Heinrich twisting his eyebrows in though.
"Is zere somezing vrong viz your Sniper?! Is zis the cause of your mood and desire to go outside?!"
"—I—I dunno if there's anything wrong, Doc, that's what I'm goin' t'see—how'd you know he was involved...?!"
"You are about as predictable as you are fast, Junge!" Heinrich smiles warmly, Scout's face reddening instantly. "Othervise you have no business outside of ze base, unless I am wrong—"
"Nah, Doc...spot on, actually," Scout sighs, Heinrich nodding. "You're good..."
"I figured, zough if you vish to conceal your relationship, zis is not necessarily good news on your behalf..."
"What ain't?!"
"Zat you are so predictable on his account!"
"Nah, you're the only one who knows..." Scout grimaces, finding no reason for mentioning the Frenchman. "'cept Lard Fat, but I doubt he's got the capacity to remember..."
"You make fun of him, Scout, but if you spoke Russian, I believe you vould be blown avay by how intelligent he actually is!" Heinrich grins, Scout smirking disbelievingly.
"I know, you laugh, but ze Heavy in his native language is a completely different man!"
"I believe ya, Doc!" Scout beams, though it falters as he twists to face the bolted exits of the base.
"I vill not keep you, Scout, go deal viz your Sniper—but be vary of vatchful eyes,"
"You ain't gotta worry, Doc," Scout smiles softly, Heinrich donning a gentle smile in response to Scout's nodding, the German observing intently as he slips through the iron door with ease, darting into the shadows as he slips past the courtyard and across the bridge that creaks much too loud in moments when ambiguity as to the existence of a presence upon them are most necessary.
Regardless, Scout's eyes waiver gently as they lock onto the camper that sits parked a considerable distance away from the RED fortress, and as Scout makes a silent dash he is known for toward its location, his breath quickens and his stomach muscles are so taught he has no need to heave gasps of air in his stride.
Who cared about watchful eyes and doubled glances, there was nothing to see but a running boy, after all, a concept so devoid of entertainment or intrigue even the natural vibe of wildlife continues along its path, the wind not even whistling in his ears as he slices through it, as if it were too bored to follow him along his determined race to the trailer.
It helped, the possession of legs of hypersonic proportions and running fast, for by time one's eyes registered the swoop of his mass he was already long, long gone...
He pants a bit as he rests his hands on his knees, sparing in between his hiccups an overwrought knock upon the metallic though thin sheet of door, nearly denting the damn thing in his excitement.
Scout's ears tune up instantly however at the sound of mumblings and maneuvering from within, lifting his gaze expectantly as the Australian wrenches the door open to reveal the sweaty boy before him, though Scout notices a weakness in the force applied in the determination of the door's swing.
"Oi, love, 's jus' you—figured it would be," Sniper grins calmly, saying nothing else as he retreats back into the camper, though leaving the door open behind him so as to silently imply Scout has his permission to enter. His heart races as he does just that indeed, pulling the latch behind him and confirming his being in Sniper's van, though the high of his worry ebbs away as, in an anti-climatic conclusion, Scout realises he'd been worried for nothing; Sniper'd only been in the damn van the whole time...
"'s awfully moist in here, wombat," Scout sniffs, calling back at the man who bustles in the back near the bedroom. "You turnin' the thing into a rainforest or somethin'?!"
Though Scout's smirk wavers a bit as he yields a fit of wet coughs and throaty wretches as well as a mechanic whirring in response.
"No, love," Sniper whispers hoarsely, attempting to rumple his face into a friendly smile reminiscent of the natural haughty scowl he typically harnessed any other day Scout had come to visit. "Not a fan 'o the tropics..." Sniper whispers, a few seconds passing before he directs his attention back onto the Bostonian.
"Y'sure y'wanna come back t'the bedroom, gremlin?" Sniper asks warily, Scout nodding as he follows the lanky man and his stagger back to his sleeping quarters, the man instantly collapsing upon his disheveled bed and bringing the palm of his hand to his forehead.
Scout twists a bit, jumping slightly as he brings his cleat off the floor, narrowly avoiding a nest of dirtied tissues grouped together beside a nearly empty waste bin (funny, considering Sniper was a master of aim and precision). He looks up in the middle of his step around the kleenexes, a humidifier purring on his bedside and emitting moisture about the bedroom, Scout nodding in understanding and seating himself on the edge of the man's bed, running an affectionate hand through the man's hair and cheek.
"You feelin' alright, Jack?" Scout inquires gently, Sniper moaning and shifting gingerly upon his bed, curling into a new position, though the same miserable mouthing still tarnishes his rugged profile.
"Dunno if 'alright's a word I'd use for m'self when I can hardly breathe..."
Scout bites down on his lower lip, his heart sinking at the sight of Sniper's puffed, grainy cheeks and pinkened, irritated nose, the man's lips chapped and dehydrated; Scout can even see his puffy eyelids between the cracks of his fingers.
"Woudn't touch me if I were you, love, 'less you want the bloody flu..." Sniper can barely mumble, hand still fanned over his shut eyes, and Scout retracts his hand gradually.
"Y—Ya sure it's alright if I stay? You look pretty beat, Jack," Scout sighs, Sniper chuckling a single, tired laugh.
"I mean—now isn't exactly what I'd call ideal timin' for your little visits, but I's just sittin' here thinkin' 'bout how much I miss ya—so's up t'you—" but Sniper is interrupted by a violent coughing fit, Scout flinching unnoticeably as he can almost feel the germs fluttering and settling themselves into his respiratory system like infectious snowflakes.
"Bloody gross, I am—can hardly talk—but it doesn't matter love, wos wrong?"
"...Nothin', man," Scout whimpers, his heart breaking in half as he takes a quick survey of the noxious bedroom.
"Can I get you somethin'?" Scout asks dotingly, Sniper nodding a little as he parts his lips.
"A little mug'o the tea I have goin'd be real nice, love,"
"Yeah, 'course," Scout pats Sniper again before hoisting himself off the bed, the marksman nodding his head languidly as Scout makes his way from the bedroom.
"Thanks, Lawrence."
Scout nods and treads his way lightly into the kitchen, Sniper's whooping coughs echoing throughout the camper that seems much too small in this particular visit.
It certainly made no sense, Scout grumbles, dipping the scalding water from the saucepan into a coffee mug, lips anchored beneath his teeth in laborious contemplation. Twenty four hours ago the Australian had been beyond healthy, his voice golden and audible as his moans'd mangled with Scout's own yesterday in the Sniper nest, his ability to breathe up to it's usual standards as the kisses they shared seemed never ending before they would finally break apart...
'He certainly wasn't hackin' during sex, that was for sure...'
Scout dips a teabag into the steaming liquid, cupping the warm ceramic and easing his way back into Sniper's bedroom.
"Sit up, wombat," Scout grins, Sniper taking the mug gently before curling his lips around its edge, sipping at the remedy and creasing his eyes in bitter reception.
"You sure you shouldn't go see your Doc, dingo?! Feel like the air in here ain't too good for ya..."
"Doc's already seen me, pumped full'o whatever magical shit'e's got in that medibay'o his—" he hacks violently, Scout grimacing as the man spits into a kleenex, sparing Scout no image of the green mucus, making an attempt to throw it in the garbage and missing all the while—
"Sick, Jack—!"
"Oi, I'd reckon sick's 'bout right, considerin' I've been sittin'ere pukin' my bloody guts out all day—sorry for not lookin' like a show horse, wasn't 'xpectin' the company—"
"You were fine yesterday, man!"
"What in the world, 're you mad?! Yesterday I couldn't even move without spewin' my bloody insides all over the damn van!" Sniper snaps, Scout raising a confused eyebrow.
"Uh, no, slugger, yesterday you were just fine!"
"Don't take me for actin' sassy, love, but I think I'd know where it was I was, considerin' I was the one lyin' 'bout in m'own filth'n doin' the hurlin'—"
"You must gotta memory worse than goldfish, dude, 'cause you were just fine when I was suckin' your dick yesterday—"
"Oi?!" Sniper perks up, Scout raising his eyebrows and giving the man a frazzled "Uh, yeah!".
"Pretty sure I'd remember my little Scout givin' me a nice one—'nd I sure as Hell ain't got no memory'o it!"
"Musta ridden you so hard you got amnesia! I guess ya fucked me 'til you forgot about it!" Scout snaps crudely, Sniper's eyes widening and the man flushes an instant red, though the hue of his embarrassment is shades lighter than that of the red staining his sickly cheeks.
"Shit, dingo, it was the best sex we ever had!" Scout beams, Sniper growing sheepish at the boy's enthusiasm.
"Scout, I ain't tryin' t'be funny, but I really, really think I'd remember havin' the best sex with ya within the last two days, love, 'specially when I've been too beat t'take care o'manly business since catchin' this damn thing from Tavish—"
"What do you mean...?" Scout asks warily, marking the seriousness in Sniper's expression and tone.
"I mean I've been too sick these last three days to even please m'self let alone your jumpy arse, that'n I haven't seen ya in that long! 'S why I figured you were visitin', 'cause you had no idea where I'd been since whenever that was Sun Tzu got loose!"
"Well, I was wonderin' why I hadn't seen ya since yesterday..." Scout corrects, growing worried as Sniper shows no signs of letting up from his claim.
"I didn't see ya yesterday love, 's wot I'm tryin' t'tell you..." Sniper grunts, catching a glimpse of Scout's alarmed gaze.
"Don't get me wrong, love, I wish what y'were sayin' was true, 'n we'll make it so once I feel better—but I'm bein'a hundred percent serious when I say I haven't moved from this bloody bed at all since before makin' tea'n lettin' you in,"
"Seriously?!"
"Dinky, di," Sniper nods, coughing before lying flat against his back again, massaging his forehead with the palm of his hand.
"You'nd I didn't do anythin'o that sort yesterday—or anythin'o any sort—I'ven't been on the battlefield since last Friday'n unless I'm batshit mad'nd I really did bugger ya, there's a real convincin' me goin' around you've been diddlin' since I've been'n bed, Scout..." Sniper whispers solemnly, Scout's glance glazing in a sudden disgusted fit of realisation.