Sweat pools sickeningly in the conjoined, basin like palms of the two runaways, droplets of the mineral infused excretion slipping through their sliding hands like rain off the surface of a recently waxed car. Scout's heavy breath dries out his parched throat with each oral intake along with a piercing scratch that only serves to further remind him of the considerable distance put between themselves and the camper, and how much farther they still had left to go as per Luc's suggestion of where somewhere safe would be for now.
Had Scout the physical ability to speak after a whole ten minutes of dragging Sniper's weight behind him, he'd bark for the man to hurry up; the words would sound harsh, impatient, perhaps just slightly hysterical, but whilst engaged in a literal flight for their lives, Scout can't exactly pretend sugar coating the command would inspire the Australian to run any faster.
Sniper wasn't the one to blame; though fit, the man was not used to relying on speed to save his life, whereas for Scout his sprint was the only thing keeping him so during missions. Scout certainly couldn't fault him, at that; the end of July certainly wasn't an ideal time for which the survival of their lives should call for running either.
"Jack, please!" Scout growls as Sniper allows his upper body to flop strengthlessly like a marionette with suddenly severed strings, hands on his thighs as his chest makes great, laborious heaves in an effort to slow down his heart with deep gusts of breath. Scout would explain away his frustration with the excuse that he didn't mean the angered tone behind his words if taking the time to open his mouth didn't steal away seconds crucial to their successful escape. As he looks the man in the eye and laces their hands in a grip tense with renewed fervor, he wrenches Sniper forward, jumpstarting him into yet another taxing run.
'Maybe the mongrel's on t'somethin', sayin' thirty seven's gettin' up there…' Sniper groans mentally, his body aching as the sensors of pain that were dulled just seconds ago by the adrenaline of their getaway cool down.
"Oi—y'reckon—this—is the place—Luc was—talkin' about?!" Sniper manages to gasp as he leans against the dried wall of the shoddy abandoned barn they'd managed to make it to for support. Scout's lips twist as he deciphers the Australian's question to be not an inquiry but rather a desperate statement of what he hopes Scout plans to confirm with the affirmative.
'How many other barns do you see 'round here?!' Scout snaps internally, irritated at Sniper's display of optimism. The young man responds with a succinct nod before pushing on the splintered door without further ado.
The relief of the twenty five degree drop in temperature within the complete darkness of the barn's inside settles and cools Scout's sweat soaked skin, the humid shroud running had conjured morphing into a chilling coat draped across his overheated body. Despite the ideal, arid and temperate climate within the structure, Scout can't say the powerful smell of rotten hay and rat droppings doesn't overpower him; who knew how long the vermin had used the softened earth and beams of the old farmhouse as a place of relief, but he was certain a smarter man than him could date the history by the smell alone. The rancid hay, judging by its rigid unbreakability despite the weight of their bottoms against it, must have spent countless cycles of seasons drenched with rainwater only to be cruely overdried once summer made its return, hardened into resilient fossils of once healthy chew turned grey mass.
The roof, much to Scout's surprise, has managed to hold up without gaps or recesses sprinkled about like lumbered swiss cheese and leaving the architecture completely vulnerable and exposed to the earth and its natural occurrences. The brittle walls, on the other hand, through which the rain water must have spent the last few years seeping, prove to not be so headstrong against the forceful barrage of time. Splintered and completely stripped of the healthy dark brown it must've been during the days of its origin, Scout jumps as Sniper rests his side against the bloated planks of shoddy, paring wood, fearful that the entirety of the barn would collapse within itself like a hollowed sidewalk unable to withstand its own mass.
Instead he sighs anticlimactically as nothing happens, Sniper shutting his eyes and allowing his body to rest. Scout sits still, wary of startling any other critters that still reside and take refuge in the barn along with them.
"Bloody Hell, 's hot out there…thought I wasn't gonna make it…" Sniper gasps, swiping his hat from the top of his head and fanning himself with it, breathing heavily through his mouth. "Come over here, love, 's no need for you t'be sittin' in a nest o'rat poo…" Sniper grunts, pulling Scout into his lap, his sweat drenched arms wrapping around him so as to hold him up properly.
"It'll be 'lright—'s nothin' t'worry about…we're gonna get through this…" Sniper whispers, his breath now even paced thanks to the three minutes of rest. Scout frowns, doing his best to conceal inconsolably hysterical voices and thoughts that raced in his mind, deep below the exterior of his calm flesh. Though as he twists his neck, catching sight of the Australian's shadowed lips and their slight movements and the mumbles they produce, Scout wonders if the genlte words and their prayer like repetition are actually truly meant for the assurance of the man's own restless soul.
Scout, for whom words simply refuse to come as if the fear stockpiled a verbal dam just behind his lips, rests his head against the older man's shoulder, Sniper's arms constricting tighter against his waist, Scout's tighter against his neck.
"Surprised you're not cryin'," Sniper teases blandly, his voice muffled, for he essentially speaks into Scout's collarbone, his head tucked comfortably against his body.
Maybe the residual drain of the heat's effect is what stops him from replying, maybe it's the same blockade of verbal expression plaguing him from before.
"How long's 'e gonna be with the damn van, 'd be suicide for us t'just sit here 'nd bake inside this smelly old thing…"
The same smelly old thing was the only "thing" separating them from ultimate capture and surrender to the Administrator and her personal forces, Scout reasons internally; perhaps the reason why Scout is not so quick to scoff at the admittedly rank barn as Sniper swears yet again over the smell, is because its role in their survival outweighs any sort of unpleasant scent in his eyes (or nose, more like).
"I know 'e said it was off 'er bounds, but I'm not jus' gonna wait here for her men t'come knockin'…"
'And where else do we have to go, Snipes?!' Scout muses further, though he can't help but feel there was validity behind Jack's indignant commentary; it did seem foolish to wait in a flimsy shack for Luc's cue, even with the Frenchman's assurance that the barn and surrounding fields lay just outside of the perimeters the woman's monitors observed. It felt to Scout like the very first place she would have them look…
"He ain't gonna be much longer, Jack," Scout sighs, narrowing his eyes, his focus honing in on the small slivers of thankfully barren land he can see through the planks. "Luc ain't just gonna leave us hangin'."
"Hmph—prolly kills ya t'even speak the man's name,"
"Ijust can't believe he never told me about Dad..."
"Scout, I know it's hard, 'nd I'm right proud o'ya for handlin' it like ya are; try t'put it out your mind for now 'nd we'll call your Mum as soon as things settle down..."
"Why didn't they ever tell me?!"
"Well..." Sniper clears his throat, thankful the small gaps in the wood filter selective slivers of light, the Australian leaning further back to further shroud himself in black completely, hiding the nebbish twitches of his thin lips. "No offense, love..."
"What..."
"You could hardly handle it when the bloke pulled up a chair next to ya at the kitchen table as it was, I imagine he was only puttin' two 'nd two togetha when he assumed maybe news o'your pop drownin' 'imself after the years o'abuse he put your mum under wouldn't quite settle right, 'specially not comin' from him..."
"Ma coulda told me, or one o'my brothers, or somebody!"
"You woulda discarded it, thinkin' it was a trick t'get ya t'grow a bit more sensitive o'Luc, 's prolly where they're comin' from..."
"I ain't a kid, I coulda handled the truth..."
Again Sniper can only release a quick, shallow tisk of air Scout easily deciphers as meaning "I dunno...", the silence between them amplifying the muculent slide of saliva travelling down his esophagus in a hesitant swallow.
"Y'really couldn't have, 'nd you know it, Lawrence; you're barely handlin' it now, I can feel it on ya, the way you're shakin',"
"But I ain't..."
"I feel it…they're slight, but I feel it..."
"Why didn't anyone tell me..."
"The only reason you were told now's 'cause Luc knew y'wouldn't've put your feelin's aside otherwise…so please, please let it go, take his help for now…if not outta forgiveness t'him then please for me, love..."
"Yeah, well, it's huge what he's doin' for us…"
"Huge doesn't even begin t'explain it, love—if that Dead whatsit of his goes wrong, 'e's gonna get suckered into all this too—'s a big risk for him, but I know he'd do anything' for you, Lawrence, he'd do anythin' for all of ya…"
"Yeah, well, you make it sound like he don't care about you—I doubt he's doin' all this shit just for me…" Scout argues quickly, the thought of Luc risking his life on his behalf filling him with affectionate disgust and an unsettling guilt he'd always been plagued with whenever Luc had done something inarguably "nice" for him, his stepson—something Scout couldn't dismiss away with the venomous temper and threats of skull cracking as usual.
"We're colleagues, love—sure, we've always been friendly with each other, 's always been a gentleman t'me, even when I first arrived at the 'Fort ten years ago—but outside o'pointless chit chat 'nd mission related stuff we never really had a reason to talk 'til I got involved with you—though y'know, he showed me pictures of you once, now that I remember,"
"What?!"
"Was a smokin' break, or a mission briefin', somethin'—'nd the bloke just came at me all miserable, talkin' 'bout he'd just gotten news that his stepson was bein' deployed out here—'course I'm not gonna lie, love, I was barely listenin', but he sure did, he showed me what musta been a school picture—"
"Fuck, was it the one with—"
"You smilin' like a dope at the camera with that ridiculous red bow tie 'nd those little teeth?"
"Fuck Luc, I told him and Ma to burn that shit, figures he'd just keep it in his wallet and show it to people…"
"I told ya I was hardly payin' attention,"
"Obviously you remembered it well enough to tell me I looked like a fuckin' goon…"
"Didn't stop me from fallin' for ya, did it? But I tell ya if I'd known I'd be sittin' with the boy in that picture in my arms, fleein' for our lives t'gether four years later, I woulda paid 'im a bit more mind…" Sniper chuckles disbelievingly, sighing heavily. "Funny the way life works, eh…?"
"Yeah…"
"But it's nothin' t'worry about, love—Luc'll be here with the van pretty soon, 'nd before you know it we'll be gone with just us like y'wanted—'cept, y'know, the van…"
Scout frowns, patting Jack on the cheek, the palm of his hand prickling as his unshaved jaw scratches along his flesh. He could tell choosing between his own life and the van was proving to be a feat of a decision for the Australian.
"But it gives us a chance to breathe, you know? We're gonna get out, be on the lam for a bit, and that's gonna suck some dick, but at least we'll be alive, right?"
"Since when did you start talkin' sense?!" Sniper chuckles, Scout wincing as the man brings his hand to wrap behind Scout's head, the impact of it against the tender wound from yesterday causing him to groan softly, his eyes closing from lightheadedness.
"Sorry, love…" he apologises quickly, clearing his throat sheepishly.
"Naw, Jack, you ain't gotta be sorry, I deserved it…"
"Your Doc's right, I'm—I'm always hurtin' ya…"
"And both times I shouldn'ta ever said that shit, wombat; I was mad, and you were too…"
"Still, love—I never should've hit ya…" Sniper sighs, tugging at the bandages plastered around Scout's nose. "I reckon these can come off right about now…"
Scout wrinkles his cheeks and the tip of his nose gingerly, thankful that the motions do not elicit any twinges of pain or discomfort.
"Looks right…your Doc really is good 'bout patchin' you up—that medigun o'his really does put y'back t'gether nicely…"
"So no scars or nothin'?"
"Nope…not a one…" Sniper twists Scout's head to the left and right very gently, running his finger along the bridge of the young man's nose.
"Feels straight…I'm so sorry, love…"
"Stop sayin' sorry, Jack, I'm serious; I told you I deserved it,"
"Bullshit, y'don't deserve t'get your head cracked open…"
"'Nd I shoulda never said that shit, okay?! Now will you just drop it?! I dunno how long it's gonna take you to get that it ain't no big deal, wombat, 'specially not compared to the rest of this shit goin' on,"
"Well I love you, no matter what—don't you ever forget tha—"
Scout's hand flies to cover Sniper's thin lips, the two frozen still as the sound of an approaching vehicle makes its way across the fields. The crops of vegetation whose stalks Scout had held to be resilient, crash to the ground in powerful droves, as if bowing before the presence that uproots them.
"Sounds like your van, don't it, Jack—" Scout pipes up, Sniper's hand pulling him back forcefully by the back of his shirt as he attempts to make way toward the door.
"Lawrence, you idiot, don't you dare jus' go rushin' out there like that! How d'you know the old bat hasn't got one o'her men in the driver's seat?! Might not be Luc love, but jus' her tryin' to lure us out! Y'gotta be way more careful…" Sniper growls, plucking Scout off his lap, the two standing quickly as the vehicle grows louder.
"Hide, Lawrence!" Sniper hisses, leading him into a completely darkened corner, placing him so he falls against the hay, concealed almost entirely.
"Stay here, love, 'nd don't you make a sound; I don't care what happens, you do not move from this spot, d'you hear me?! You're not here; I'll tell 'em I'm hidin' out here 'cause I heard you were tryin' to kill me—'nd I'll be damned if you do or say otherwise,"
Scout nods quickly, Sniper's glare and tone taking any sort of desire to argue the contrary from the suddenly obedient young man. The weight in his heart lessens as Sniper takes the hilt of his kukri into his hand, Scout thankful he at least takes means to defend himself with him. As Sniper approaches the door to the barn with silent caution whilst light footsteps thump against the ground on the other side, Scout can barely stopper his breath in his own throat.
Their visitor mustn't want to alert them of their existence as well, for they are careful not to vocalize their presence—Scout doesn't even have that much to go off of, a voice to determine whether the one on the other side meant harm or not...
"Jack, do you—"
"Shut your bloody mouth, love!" he snaps quickly, and Scout, who lowers himself into the rancid, rotten feed, forces himself not to wretch and gag as droppings roll about too close to his open mouth. Regardless of the nature of his surroundings, he cannot shake away the knowledge of having heard fear in the Australian's croaked whisper of a voice.
He doesn't shake, nor does he visibly hesitate, Scout notes, and for that he is particularly thankful, that Sniper does not stagger or falter below emotion in his stance. He hunches slightly, out of the door's reach should it swing open aggressively, though close enough so one of the man's violent stabs and swipes should halt any intrusive attackers. Despite his promise however, it's all the Bostonian can do to just sit there as instructed, his hand cramping and throbbing as it wraps tightly against his bat.
It all happens in one swift motion; Sniper swings open the barn door with a sudden force that even Scout jumps, the fabric of Luc's front caught and steeled under the grip of Sniper's powerful fist, the equally tall man being dragged off his feet. Their foreheads touch as the Australian's eyes bore into those of his alleged comrade, Sniper's breaths hostile, even, and weighted.
"An innocent man who 'as nozhing to 'ide would not answer zhe door in such a way, Jack!" Luc chuckles nervously, falling to his feet and placing a gloved hand on his chest, taking a few steps back from the man and his knife.
"How the fuck do you know he's ain't a Spy, Jack?!" Scout cries, arising from the mount of feces and straw.
"I thought I told you t'keep your arse down—!"
"Calm down, Lawrence—Jack and I discovered some days ago zhat zhe disguises we spies 'ave been relying on do operate on faulty technology; you see, zhe PDA disguises, we've always 'eld to be state of zhe art! Zhough zhanks to zhe watchful eyes of your favourite Sniper, we 'ave discovered zhat zhere is indeed a flaw, and namely zhat it disguises all but zhe eyes,"
"Did it really take six thousand words t'say you can tell if a bloke is a fake or not by the eyes?!" Sniper snaps, peeking his head out from the frame of the door and checking for unwanted stragglers in Luc's wake.
"'Nd where's my van—?!"
"Don't worry, Lawrence, zhere is no need to observe me so—your Jack made sure I am zhe real Luc, he looked right into my eyes—your van is parked a little ways away—" Luc adds dismissively, smirking at the instantaneous rise he flares from within Sniper, the man defensive as if the fate of his firstborn were the topic of discussion and not an automobile.
"'Nd what's goin' on?! Did she buy it?!"
"Patience, please—can we not get inside zhe van before answering questions?!" Luc begs, making a gesturing motion for the two to follow him.
"Inside?! Y'mean you've still got 'er?!"
"Of course, Jack, zhe plan was to get you two out of state, was it not?! What am I going to do, carry you two on my back?!"
"Oi, y'said there was a possibility y'wouldn't have time t'get bring 'er with ya—"
"Zhankfully zhis was not zhe case," Luc grunts, climbing into the driver's seat of the Australian's home of eighteen years.
"You sure it's a good idea for all three of us to sit up in the van?! I'd think the camper would be safer for me and Jack, that way we ain't just cruisin' down the highway in plain sight," Scout snaps, though he puts up no fight to Sniper pushing him into the seat and buckling him accordingly.
"It would take too much time for us t'bail out of the camper, love," Sniper grunts, closing the passenger side door, taking his rifle into his arms.
"Whoa fuck, why is he holdin' his rifle?! And why the fuck're we gonna bail out—?!"
"Just a precaution, Lawrence, a wanted boy of your caliber best be prepared for unanticipated showdowns and emergency getaways and departures—When was zhe last time you wiped down zhe dashboard, Jack?! It's filzhy,"
"Get bloody goin', mate!" he shouts, looking into the side mirrors to make sure no one trails them. Luc grimaces as he allows the tips of his fingers to twist the key in the ignition, his hands hovering above the steering wheel as if the contraption were disease ridden, pulsating with noxious infections.
Sniper grimaces as the machine to his beloved van whirrs and rolls in violent, overworked revolutions, black smoke clouding behind them as the vehicle makes a vicious jumpstart, the tires screeching as they propel forward.
"Careful now, don't melt the damn tires down!" Sniper snaps, Scout sandwiched in between the two men. Luc, Scout notes, is a highly reckless driver he'd rather not be in control of the steering wheel; corn stalks slope the width of the windshield as he tears down whole fields indiscriminately that have the unfortunate honour of lying in the van's path.
"Oh, please! Zhe entire Administration is after you bozh, but God forbid I rev your engine!" Luc snaps, Scout emitting a brief, hysterical chuckle as the Frenchman bothers to turn on his blinker, the van bouncing feverishly as it hits the asphalt of the two lane highway, surrounded by badlands and plateaus.
"Not sure that was the best exit, Luc, her men're gonna notice a path about the width o'this thing tearin' through the fields,"
"It is no longer a question of delicacy but of time, Jack—"
"Bailin' out, huh?!" Scout gulps, the jagged edges of the various rocks and boulders that align the side of the road far from anything Scout finds he could ever willingly roll onto whether his life called for it or not. "Shit, man, you're almost goin' a hundred! I can't just bail out goin' like a fuckin' racecar—!"
"Honestly, Luc, I know we prolly burned some bridges, but what the Hell'd you do back there that y'need ninety miles between us'nd the 'Fort in less than an hour?!"
"Ugh—would you two razher I drive like your grandmozhers taking you to Sunday School?!" the man shouts, the engine overheating and roaring as the speed takes its toll on the twenty year old camper and its mechanics.
"Y'can't keep drivin' like this forever, she'll give out, 'nd a sherrif'll prolly stop us before then!"
"You say zhat as if you 'ave not outrun zhe police in zhe van in zhe past!"
"Oi, I earned myself a bit of a record 'cause of that mess, I'd rather not have it slowin' us down if we're caught speedin' again!"
"I suppose it would be embarrassing if zhe Administrator 'ad to pick you two up from jail, non?"
"We two?! Judgin' by the fact we're goin' fifty miles over the speed limit, I get the feelin' you did somethin' back there that might land you in the cell next door, mate!"
"Besides feigning zhe deazhs and conspiring to assist in zhe escape of two of zhe Administrator's most wanted men, I've done nozhing wrong! And certainly nozhing we did not discuss already! I took out zhe Dead Ringer, disguised as you bozh seperately, producing two dead bodies—zhat all went accordingly—naturally zhe Administrator was alerted by bozh the killfeed and zhe absolute chaos zhat broke out on base once word of your deazhs got out—"
"Well 's nice t'know they all cared!"
"Zhe disorganization made it much easier for you bozh to leave zhe base quickly and wizhout interruption—wizhout the unsolicited madness from bozh sides, she most certainly would 'ave watched zhe monitors for your potential escape as opposed to focusing 'er attention on zhe conflict—not to mention zhere was no doubt she wanted to investigate zhe matter once she 'eard you were bozh claimed to 'ave been found dead,"
"'nd Heinrich?!"
"I never knew 'e was such a good actor—zhe good man can produce fake tears like a star—after rallying zhe attention of bozh sides wizh a most amazing breakdown, cuddling your body, might I mention, Lawrence—'e took bozh your "corpses" down to zhe medibay for an autopsy. Zhough of course zhe men of zhe Administrator 'ad stepped in by zhis point—it was zhe only zhing to settle everyone; no one moved a muscle while zhey spoke quietly wizh zhe doctor. It was zhen 'E gave me zhe signal to go and get zhe van and find you two at zhe barn like we'd discussed,"
"You coulda picked a better spot, you fuckin' asshole, there was rat shit everywhere!"
"Oi, ten minutes ago you were talkin' 'bout 'countin' blessings 'nd bein' all rational!"
"je suis désolé, next time I am posing to be dead versions of you and your boyfriend I'll be sure to book you a room in a five star 'otel during zhe wait," Luc snaps sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
"So then is'e 'lright?!"
"Who, 'Einrich? 'E seemed to be just fine—everyzhing did, for zhat matter—I was not expecting it all to run so smoozhly myself,"
"So you were expectin' it to fuck up?! Pessimistic bastard,"
"I am simply used to it all 'fucking up',"
"So what?! Did the bat's men follow 'im into the bay?!"
"I imagine so, Jack, zhough I cannot say I know for sure—I was already at zhe camper as soon as 'Einrich gave me zhe okay,"
"So then what's the plan, dude?!"
"Well, I get you bozh away from 2Fort, first and foremost; Teufort zhe city would be a most stupid place for you two to 'ide, zhough I must admit she would be 'esitant to cause a scene in front of civilians she is trying to win over…"
"Win 'em over?! She don't give a shit about none of 'em, Luc, when I was there I saw her plans to start drillin' out the city for oil—us bein' there would prolly just give her a reason to finally put the city on lockdown 'nd invade with her dudes like she's been wantin' to for years,"
"…well I suppose zhat idea can be scratched; and residing in zhe camper would be suicide—all it would take is for zhe Administrator to issue a warrant for zhe ve'icle to zhe auzhorities 'nd you'd be back in 'er clutches,"
"So then when y'let us out, 's gonna be the last time I see'er then, eh?" Sniper chokes, giving the dashboard a tender stroke.
"I'm sorry to say, Jack,"
"'Nd what're y'gonna do?!"
"Do?!"
"You know what I mean, Luc!"
"Well, I zhought it would be best if I spared you any details,"
"Don't tell me y're gonna torch 'er!"
"Would you razher it be zhe van or zhe two of you, Jack?!" Luc snaps, the Australian stony faced, silent for the next ten minutes.
"Y'know, I've been thinkin'; it ain't like they're gonna believe we're dead forever—they're gonna figure out at some point that the bodies were just decoys, Luc, especially when they see us missin' with the van, you included; 's all gonna seem a bit too convenient,"
"You underestimate my reputation as a Spy if you do not know I know zhis, Lawrence," Luc snaps through gritted teeth. "Claiming you bozh to be dead was never meant to be anyzhing ozher zhan a getaway of convenience—nozhing more zhan a diversion. It seems to me you were zhe one 'oping it would double as a permanent alibi, judging by your shock at zhe possibility of bailing out,"
"So then where're you gonna drop us, dude?!"
"As far away as possible,"
"And then?!"
"You two already know to take very little wizh you,"
"I'm not leavin' my rifle, mate—"
"Calm down, Jack, I never expected you too—Lawrence ought to take a pistol as well—per'aps some clozhing, money, ozherwise nozhing else,"
"'Nd where're we gonna stay?!"
"Hmph—I'm afraid zhat is for you all to decide—and for zhe sake of our safety, probably better if you do not tell me,"
"And what if you and the Doc're gonna have to run?!"
"I'm sure zhat 'Einrich and 'is 'Eavy will run togezher—I will not be going back to Boston, it would be much too obvious, and I would never endanger your mozher,"
"Oh God, Ma!"
"She will be alright, it would be 'er worrying about you if she knew,"
"So what, do you think we're gonna be on the run for the rest of our lives?!"
"We'll be on the run t'gether at the very least, love," Sniper assures him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "Don't be scared…"
"Dude, I'm fuckin' terrified!" Scout wails, the level headed approaches and musings he'd repeated mentally in the barn shriveling like cracked, decrepit snake skin, coiling smaller and smaller into themselves until a slight panic is all that remains of them. "For real, I can't take none of this shit—!"
"For you claiming to be 'terrified', I must say you are taking it very well, Lawrence; I'm quite surprised myself,"
"Well now's not the time t'cry or break shit, I think he realizes that,"
"But to repress it and pretend like it isn't 'appening?!"
"Bingo,"
"I don't believe it…I just don't fuckin' believe it…"
"I know, love, but 's nothin' we can't handle—'s not like we don't deal with death every day…"
"Not like this! I ain't ever gonna see Ma or my brothers again…"
"Don't talk like that, Lawrence, y'never know! At least y'made it out of the base at all, right?! 'S better off than you bein' dead!"
"You two are togezher, Lawrence, zhat much you should be zhankful for,"
"Oi, I'm actually half tempted t'shoot myself in the head if it keeps him alive—"
"DUDE, SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
"Alright, Good Lord…" Sniper grunts.
"Well at zhe very least you know Scout wants you alive…" Luc attempts to joke, though he clears his throat and diverts his attention back onto the road as a quick glance in their direction rewards him with a view of Scout wrapped in his arms, the two talking in hushed voices about something or other, most likely their fates and how to best accept them.
It was strange to see the young man Luc'd only known to be ornery and highly difficult so in love, with romantic arms enveloped around his frame, the one to whom they belong willing to die for the young man if it meant saving his life.
Not that Luc too hadn't reached the same conclusion; he loved Lawrence as much as he would any real son of his own, and for him he would certainly give his life...
With another succinct glance in the direction of the two, Luc determines that the love that drives both himself and the Australian to reach such a decision are two entirely different loves indeed. As they should be; there was no way Jack saw Lawrence with the same eyes as he…
"JESUS, LUC—!"
The Frenchman gasps as well, slamming his foot against the break, mouth agape as the van swirls in spiral shaped lurches across rubber scorched road, gravel crunching sickly beneath the blazing tires he swears are actually smoking.
"PAY ATTENTION T'THE ROAD, IF YOU DON'T MIND—!"
But Luc's attention is far ahead of Sniper and his desire to deliver sarcastic pieces of advice; silent in his shock, Luc can only rely on the silent dripping of coolant that leaks from the van's engine to create noise or offer an explanation for what he sees where he physically cannot. Black cars, dozens of them, blockade the road some five hundred feet before them, preventing any further travel along the road.
"Well good goin', with that maneuver of yours 's no way we didn't get noticed by whatever the Hell's goin' on up there!"
"What the fuck—where'd those cars even fuckin' come from…" Scout swears incredulously, lifting himself up from the seat, craning his neck to get a better view. "Seriously, it's like a fuckin' swarm…"
"I—I did not see zhem! I came up zhe 'ill and I turned my 'ead for one second—"
"'S no way they just 'ppeared outta thin air, mate,"
"I am not implying so! I am just saying zhat I was too distracted to notice—!"
"'S why y'always watch the road—!"
"You don't think they're sheriffs pullin' us over 'cause Luc was drivin' like he's in the Indy 500?! I mean, they don't seem to be freakin' out like they saw ya, they're just sittin' there—weird…"
"I—I do not know," Luc whispers, gulping as the doors to the vehicles begin to open, menacing even in their distance. "I do not zhink I want to know—"
"Wot—what's wrong, Luc—?!"
"'Ide Lawrence, now!" Luc snaps, Scout grunting from pain at the indelicate push on his head forcing him to the floor of the van.
"What's goin' on, Luc—?!" Sniper shouts back aggressively, his hands gripped around Scout's shoulders, the young man cramped under the dashboard in between the man's calves. "Who're they—?!"
Luc takes a gloved hand and forces Sniper's glance onto the blockade ahead, the colour draining from his face as a dark purple pencil skirt distinguishes itself instantly, contrasting against the waxy black of the cars like a peasant amongst kings.
"Oi, I know her…'s that one bimbo that always comes around with that tool with the bloody camera durin' inspections—what she want?!"
"LAWRENCE!" Luc growls, teeth bared.
"BULLSHIT!" Sniper roars, though an electronic screech sounds throughout the area, the skirted 'bimbo' now wielding a megaphone.
"Lucien Rousseau! Lucien Rousseau!" she pipes hesitantly, her voice wobbling as she tries to command control of a threatening tone.
"She's callin' for you, mate—"
"Lucien Rousseau! You are under arrest for conspiracy, feigning the deaths of Lawrence Broderick William Fitzpatrick and Jack Sweetwater Mundy, as well as obstructing justice!"
"I don't get it, if they're not the authorities, how can they charge 'nd arrest you?! 'Nd you're a spy, you feign our deaths all the time with that thing o'yours—"
"Jack, be ready to take Lawrence and run," Luc whispers, showing no sign of having heard neither his charges nor the Australian.
"Run?!"
"Further resistance is fruitless, Mr. Rousseau! We have you surrounded on all sides! I wouldn't resist arrest if I were you,"
"Listen t'her, givin' advice; 'if I were you' —'S no way in Hell this bimbo's got me shakin' in my shoes—sounds like she'd cave in at the wind if it blew hard enough…we're not even surrounded, we can still turn around—why don't we jus' make a getaway with the van?!"
"Zhe van won't last in a showdown, Jack, and it is not Pauling I fear—'er men do not look like ones who tend to fall be'ind in a car chase…"
"So what, we're jus' gonna sit here 'nd watch while you turn yourself in?!" Sniper snaps, Scout craning his head upward.
"What's goin' on out there, Jack—?!"
"Do not say anyzhing, Lawrence! Zhey mustn't know you are in zhe car wizh us!"
"Surrender Mr. Fitzpatrick and we may even be so kind as to let you go, Mr. Rousseau!"
"Or per'aps zhey already know…" Luc sighs, Sniper however rolling down his window, sticking his head and chest out of the recess.
"OI! PISS OFF, YA VAPID CUNT! YOU'RE NOT TAKIN' ANY OF US ALIVE—!"
"JACK—!"
"I'M NOT LETTIN' ANY O'THOSE BASTARDS GET A HOLD OF LAWRENCE—YEAH, 'S RIGHT, YOU HEARD ME YOU AIRHEADED BIMBO—!"
"Jack, please! Do not lose your temper, or your mind for zhat matter! Do not provoke zhem!"
"I'm not goin' down without a fight, mate," Sniper growls, though neither the three of them nor Pauling and her men make a move, and so it remains for a handful of minutes.
"This is the last time I will warn the three of you, and the last chance I will give you to surrender yourselves without conflict—"
"WITHOUT CONFLICT MY ARSE, YA BLOODY BITCH—!"
"Jack!"
"Give it up, Sniper! You are cornered!"
If it weren't for Luc's grip on around Sniper there was no doubt he would have come charging from the van at the sound of Dmitri's light, song of a voice, heavily influenced by his romantic tongue.
"Lawrence, Lawrence, Lawwwrennceee…" the Italian cheers again, waving them down.
"I swear t'God, Luc—" Sniper snarls, and the Frenchman can see an aggressive hatred works as the man's bodyguard, refusing to leave his side even if Sniper himself knew that a calm demeanour was the only thing that would keep them alive, at the very least. It was an emotion Luc was not unused to seeing Sniper so infused with, especially not when the safety of Scout was in question.
"I DARE YA T'TRY 'ND PUT YOUR GREASY WOG HANDS ON 'IM, MATE!"
"Release him, Jack! You cannot be his refuge forever! There will come a time when little Lawrence shall have to answer and repent for his crimes! Who are you to get in the way of justice, Mundy?!"
"If he doesn't shut his bloody mouth, I'm gonna kill'im…"
"Jack, naw, stop—" Scout pleads, making to rise from the floor, though Sniper quickly holds him down.
"I swear t'fuckin' God, Luc…"
"It is not even you we are after, Jack! It is not either of you! Every minute you and the Frenchman withhold the boy you are only deepening your own penalties and sentences! Lawrence had his ultimatum! Either he was to kill you, or to be returned to the Administrator and receive punishment for his crimes!"
"Jack…" Scout shakes his head as the man takes his rifle into his hands, bringing the scope to his eye.
"LUC!" Scout calls, and together with him the two manage to pull Sniper's frame from out of the window right as the shot fires, the tug on his mass however angling the otherwise spot on shot so it shoots into the air, as opposed to the preferred target of between the cocky Mediterranean's eyes.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Jack?!"
"Did you see that?! The Bushman tried to kill me—!" Dmitri turns to Miss Pauling, gesturing incredulously at the van, though the woman pays her mind to her hand scribbling upon her clipboard instead.
"Do you wanna get the van stormed?!" Scout pleads, his fingers digging deep groves into the fabric of Sniper's slacks.
"He actually shot at me—!"
"'S not like none of 'em give a shit 'bout the crackpot, they prolly don't even know why he's there—dunno why you give a shit, after everythin' he's done to you, love!"
"I don't want you taken away, Jack! "Scout shouts, though the two watch in quiet horror as Luc lets the driver side door slam, the man walking slowly toward the blockade, the soldiers now aiming firearms at the van and Luc after Sniper's aggression. Still, Luc approaches them, slow and careful in his stride with his hands raised innocently in the air.
"What the fuck're you doin'?!" Scout screams at his stepfather, scrambling from the prison of leg Sniper encloses him within, the Australian's grip around his waist preventing him from leaving the van, despite the young man's struggle.
"Luc, stop—! Let me go, Jack—!"
"YOU'RE NOT GOIN' AFTER HIM, LOVE!"
"Lawrence appears to have the right idea, Jack! As does his stepfather! Leave it to the French to surrender without a fight!"
"Capitulation is your only option, Mr. Mundy!" the same mousy voice of the up until now silent Miss Pauling pipes through her megaphone.
"Lawrence!" Sniper croaks as Scout breaks free from his grip, rushing to take his stepfather's side.
"I ain't lettin' him go back to that fuckin' hellhole alone! She's fuckin' nuts, Jack, and if they're gonna take him 'cause of me, then I'm goin' too!"
"Lawrence, we're goin' through all this so you don't end up back with her!"
"I know, Jack, but I ain't just gonna sit in this fuckin' car while you lose your fuckin' mind 'nd Luc's turnin' himself in for shit he ain't even responsible for!…"
"Y'don't really believe they're gonna let us go if we give you up, d'you? I thought you were smarter than that, love…"
"Yeah, 'cause you're over here callin' people fuckin' cunts 'nd shootin' people in the face, real smart moves for a dude tryin' not to get his ass arrested,"
"So then what, I'm the only one still fightin' for ya?! 'M I the only one who remembers what the fuck it means if she has you, love?!"
"'Nd what about you, Jack?! What about what you mean to me, huh?!"
"What about me?!"
"Yeah if you don't know, then I ain't gonna tell ya," Scout spits, giving him a final glare, And like an invisible hand scooting him along the path of his unknowing fate, Scout exits the vehicle as well, lifting his arms in the air.
"LAWRENCE, WAIT…!"
"HERE! JUST FUCKIN' TAKE ME!" Scout shouts, holding his wrists out and giving Miss Pauling and her men a sincere look. "I FUCKIN' RAGE QUIT! You want me?! Well fine! Just—!" Scout glares at his watchers, growing impatient as they seem to take their time in arresting him; no one shows any sign of movement, not until Miss Pauling makes a soft motion with the tips of her fingers, some six men slowly moving forward to take them into custody.
Scout is shocked at how lightly clothed they are; he would have assumed the three would have been labeled "armed and dangerous" (or Sniper at the very least, for his shot would have been lethal had Scout and Luc not tugged at him those fateful seconds before shooting) and that such a label would call for armor more extensive than a few purple suited men who relied solely on their burly builds for protection. Then again perhaps they anticipated the three to come quickly and quietly...
"Lawrence," Luc whispers from the corner of his mouth and into Scout's ear, his mumbling inaudible to anyone other than the Bostonian whom he addresses. "I'm sorry—I just knew we couldn't afford any more of a resistance after 'is shot—I—I am not turning you in, I just—I zhought zhis way, I could work as a distraction—zhey arrest me, and you two run— "
"I—I can't keep runnin', not if it's just gonna drag you and Jack and the Doc into all of it, 'nd Jack, he'll get himself killed, the way he's actin',"
"Y—yes, I am afraid so,"
"'Nd I ain't gonna just stand here 'nd risk him gettin' killed if what they want is me. I ain't gonna just let him die,"
"I see 'im; 'e's climbing out of zhe van now. Be ready to take 'is 'and and run, Lawrence, do you 'ear me?! Take 'im, run, and do not look back," Luc whispers frantically into the young man' ear, Scout licking his dried lips and answering negatively in sporadic, quick shakes of his head, inwardly concluding to simply stand his ground; there was no point in running now. They had sunk themselves too deep into their one sided truce for a last ditch attempt at escape that would only complicate things further.
"Hey now, boys! No whispering!" Dmitri tisks as he stalks haughtily to the two aggressively tense though threatless men, his black curls bouncing with the same light spring found in his jaunty step. "Oh, would you look who has finally decided to come out of the van! It is okay, Bushman, take your time! I know life outside of the piss van may appear intimidating at first—!"
Dmitri smirks as Sniper stalks his way to Scout and Luc, narrowing his eyes mockingly at the murderous Australian.
"Hands, Jack…" Dmitri commands coolly, Jack rolling his eyes though lifting them nonetheless.
"Will your men be doing the cuffing, Miss Pauling? Or do I get the honour of taking them myself?"
"I—I don't believe the Administrator gave you that authority, Mr. Marino," she explains patiently.
"The authority? The authority?!" Dmitri asks incredulously, a thick black eyebrow cocked in vainglorious presumption, green eyes dark with lordy aggression.
"It is because of me, Miss Pauling, that you were even able to locate the runaways—without my tip off they would have been left to run away without judicatory closure, with Lucien as the chauffeur of the traitorous faggots! Without my watchful suspicion of Lawrence, the Scout, my comrade, the Administrator would have continued to let the subversive perversions continue right underneath her very nose! And to think these two were some of her best mercenaries! The implication that I do not have the authority!"
"We're very thankful for your lead, Mr. Marino, but there is a standard protocol I would prefer we followed—feel free to take a seat in the car, or stay where you are and watch their apprehension,"
"Fine, I'll watch," Dmitri smacks his hands against his side, smirking at the woman who simply responds with widened eyes and raised eyebrows.
"Don't mind me, Miss P, just watching!" he chuckles warmly. "Aw, how sweet!" he mockingly swoons, rushing to the quiet prisoners, batting his eyelashes at the gripped hands of Sniper and Scout. "Lovers even 'til death!"
Scout is all too familiar with the sights and sounds of Sniper and the power of his fists to be blind to the amount of pain the Australian's pummel of vicious swings and uppercuts inflict onto the Italian. He knows he should interfere, pull the man back, but much like Luc, he can only stare as the bloodied face of the priggish man becomes very well acquainted with Sniper and his ruthless knuckles.
"MISTER MUNDY THAT IS ENOUGH!" Miss Pauling calls as she once again pulls the men apart. "Get them cuffed and into the wagon, please, the Administrator won't want us wasting anymore time," the woman asks kindly of the grunts, the six men pinning the Australian violently to the ground, machine guns pointed threateningly the man's head.
"JACK—!" Scout shouts, writhing in his captor's arms. "LET HIM GO! I AIN'T FUCKIN' PLAYIN'!"
"Please cuff Mr. Fitzpatrick, he's getting difficult," Miss Pauling instantly brings her attention back to her clipboard, each of them being pushed by their captors so they follow her heels, a large wagon, black and unmarked like the cars, awaiting them.
"I don't believe him! How dare he hit me?! First he attempts to shoot me, then he comes back and hits me?!"
"It's been done, Ma'am, Rousseau, Fitzpatrick, and Mundy are all in custody," Miss Pauling explains into a large, blocky celluar device, her neck clearly straining to hold the monstrous block upright upon her shoulder.
"I demand he be punished for his actions—! How dare he put his hands on me—?!"
"Well I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting to have all three in custody so quickly, Ma'am; if it's too much trouble to have three holding cells prepared then we can simply put the Scout and Sniper in one cell together! Or—that—that could work too—no Ma'am, I don't mean to question you—I—yes, right away,"
"The kangaroo fucker should be castrated!"
"I'm sorry about your face, Mr. Marino, and I can assure you Mr. Mundy shall be dealt with accordingly, but the Administrator is already annoyed enough that we weren't back a half hour ago—she doesn't want to interrogate the doctor until everyone involved is at the building, and she would prefer if we went ahead and made our way back; would you please take a seat in the car?"
"You're mistaken if y'think she's gettin' a Goddamn word outta me, lady," Sniper snarls, glaring at the ends of the weapons the men brandish in his face the instant he opens his mouth.
"Jack, please!" Scout whines as careless hands shove them both into the back of the wagon, the doors slamming and instantly darkness takes over.
"Jack, your be'aviour is reckless, and it is scaring Scout!"
"Oi, I'm tired o'behavin' the way she wants me, mate; 's isn't about her, it's about Lawrence, 'nd what it means if the Administrator gets 'im! 'Nd I dunno what in the bloody Hell you two meant by jus' shovin' your wrists in their faces 'nd givin' up— what, I'm s'pposed t'just let 'er take 'im away from me like a good boy?!"
"You're being careless, Jack! Brandishing your rifle at men who more likely zhan not 'ave orders to kill Lawrence should we prove to be problematic is probably not zhe best way to keep 'im by your side!"
"'ND GETTIN' IN HER FUCKIN' DEATH WAGON IS?!"
"Jack, please…" Scout whispers, eyes on his bound wrists.
"Sorry, love…" he grunts, looking him sincerely in the eyes.
"But I'm not gonna sit here 'nd pretend like things don't have the potential t'get violent; I'd like t'see her try t'get a syllable outta me, love; I really would."