RED Team Base - Badlands, New Mexico. Wednesday, March 28th, 1973.

Sniper rolled out of bed, shoving his feet into the tattered slippers waiting on the floor. If he'd had his say, he would have had a little more time in bed to recover from the terrible attack only a few hours prior. A mug of coffee would have to suffice. Sniper stumbled down the hall toward the kitchen, dragging his feet against the tiled floor.

Not paying attention to his surroundings, he nearly tripped over Soldier, curled up on the floor outside of his room.

"Bloody idiot," Sniper grumbled. "What are you doing?"

"I am trying to sleep," Soldier said rather mechanically, sitting himself up.

"I thought you went to the common room last night."

He rubbed at his reddened eyes. "No, sir. It was a perfect spot for a robot to attack!"

Sniper frowned. "So you stayed here all night?"

"Yes!"

"You look terrible, mate." He almost couldn't fathom how Soldier could still sound as passionate as he did despite the sleep deprivation.

"I tried to go to bed, but Zhanna locked me out. So, I put myself on watch duty!" Soldier gave a half-hearted laugh. "Those bastards better think again if they think they're going to get to my sexy fiance."

Sniper shook his head and continued on his way. "Get some rest, you mongrel."

He saluted with poor form. "Yes, sir!"

It almost pained Sniper to think about what would be waiting for him after breakfast. As much as he wanted to avoid the visit to Medic's lab, he knew the maniac would come looking for him sooner or later and drag him there against his will if he tried to escape the procedure. He had to admit: the man was driven, although not always in the best of ways.

Sniper grabbed his favourite mug and set his on the table then sunk down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, not even bothering to check if anyone had made coffee yet. He began to think about what he would make for breakfast. Vegemite on toast seemed like an appealing option.

He looked up when he heard the door swing open, seeing Medic stroll in. Sniper groaned, letting his head fall face-down on the table.

"Guten morgen," he said, opening the fridge door. Looking to the other mercenary, he asked, "Would you like some eggs?"

"Why not?"

"How many?"

"Two."

Medic got to work making breakfast; neither man spoke. A few minutes later, he placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of Sniper, then filled his '#1 Sniper' mug with coffee.

"Thanks, mate."

"Jahwol."

They ate without speaking for most of their meal. Near the end, Medic asked, "Do you have any plans for the day?"

"Other than being a bloody cadaver? No."

He waved it off and finished his coffee. "Shall we begin?"

Sniper groaned. "May as well get it done and over with."

"Sehr gute!" Medic stood and lead the way to his lab almost too eagerly.

He didn't bother to try to flee but silently anticipated the worst. Having died once before, he was hardly afraid of what could be waiting for him in the afterlife. Sniper just wasn't too keen on the idea of dying prematurely to a madman's morbid curiosity.

Medic gestured to the operating table and Sniper settled himself onto it. From what he could see, the lab was no messier than usual, yet it was hardly up to hospital standards. He squinted his eyes from the bright light above him, attempting for shut out the memory of heavenly lights.

"Your arm, bitte."

He sighed and held it out. Medic picked up a nearby syringe and slid it into a vein in the man's arm. Sniper didn't even flinch, yet his lip slightly curled in disgust.

"You're quiet today," Medic said, drawing back the plunger. Sniper didn't miss the manic expression on the man's face as he worked. Rather than scolding Medic for it as he wanted to, he just shook his head. "Suit yourself."

He pressed a cotton ball to the tiny hole after removing the needle. "Now if you'll just hold this here…" Medic said, more focused on the crimson fluid in the syringe than on his patient.

Sniper did as he was told, shooting a venomous glare to the doctor as he did so.

"What?"

"Just… Let's get this over with, alright?"

A hint of a pout tugged at Medic's lips. "But that's no fun."

Sniper snorted. "Yeah. Fun. That's why I'm here."

He rolled his eyes. "Stay there; I won't be long," he said. Holding the sample close, Medic swiftly glided away from the table, ducking behind a set of double doors.

Sniper considered leaving while he had the chance, yet he didn't get up. Part of him wanted to know whether there truly was Australium in his blood or not; whether he was more Australian than he gave himself credit for. Even with that enticing motive, he was loathing every moment he spent in the not-so-sterile lab under the supposed care of a selfish nutjob with only his own goals in mind.

As he was weighing his options, the door swung open and in came Scout. He looked around the room as he walked in, almost appearing as though he were lost. "Doc?"

"He's a bit busy right now," Sniper replied, peering at the cotton ball for a second before flicking it across the room.

"Doin' what?"

"Blood test." He rolled his eyes. "You know what he's like."

Scout raised an eyebrow. "What for?"

"Australium. After that tin can tried to bleed me dry last night, the quack wanted to check if I had Australium in me."

He cringed. "Aw man, that sucks." He walked over to the other mercenary, continuing to pace in the general area around the table.

"And what're you doing here?"

"I was gonna ask if he got around to getting more of that crap for his gun or not. See if there was anythin' else he needed from Miss Pauling."

Sniper shook his head quickly and his eyes widened. "Wait… He's out of Medi Gun fluid?"

He snorted a laugh. "Uh… yeah. You didn't know?"

"Crikey… How long has he been out?"

"Two weeks? Three, tops."

"Bloody hell…"

The doors at the back of the lab swung open, drawing their attention. Medic strode over without mirth, his hands folded behind his back.

"What did you find, Doc?" Sniper asked, attempting to prepare himself for the answer.

"Well, the bad news is: I didn't find anything out of the ordinary."

"So there's no Australium?"

"Nein."

Sniper grinned. "Well, I think we're done here."

"Err… Not quite. I need to find out why they thought you did."

He swung his legs off the side and hopped down. "No way, mate."

"Just a few more tests, bitte."

"No." Sniper was already making his way to the door as he said, "I agreed to one test, that's it."

Medic frowned.

"Uh, guys?"

They both responded at the same time.

"What am I tellin' Miss Pauling?"

Medic absently ran his hand over the empty Medi Gun canister sitting nearby. "Tell her there was no Australium, not even in Sniper's blood; the attack last night didn't make sense. Oh, and ask her to order some more Medi Gun fluid."

"You're bloody mad. One of us could have died last night."

"Oh, don't worry. I almost died as well."

RED Team Base, Engineer's Workshop - Badlands, New Mexico. Wednesday, March 28th, 1973.

Engineer scratched his chin, peering at the mechanical parts sitting on the workbench. "I just don't get it," he said. "What in tarnation did they do to these things?"

Pyro, laying on the floor and kicking their feet in the air as they scribbled on a piece of paper with a crayon, looked up. "Huddah?" they asked.

"Oh, sorry, Pyro. I was talkin' to myself again. Bad habit a' mine, I know."

Pyro shook their head.

He smiled. "Thanks, partner." Engineer absently flexed his metal hand to work the engine grease he had applied to it through the joints. Because he was more concerned about studying the remains of their enemies than he was about his hand, he only bothered to hammer out the worst of the bends and twists. There would be time to tinker with it later. All he needed it to do was obey the signals from the neurosensors attached to his wrist, and it seemed to be doing that without difficulty.

Rain would be following in only a matter of time, probably within the next day or so. The humidity in the air and the telltale ache in the stump of his wrist gave it away. Engineer grew to resent the nuisance it had become to him; even Medic had concluded that even the Medi Gun could do nothing to help him.

Engineer almost let out a shout of surprise when he found his thoughts interrupted by a colourful picture being shoved in his face. He took the paper from Pyro's hands. It was a picture of one of those 'Balloonicorns' Pyro kept drawing. Around the pink creature was a rainbow, puffy clouds, a cheery yellow sun, green grass, lollipops, bubbles, and a doodle of themself and Engineer.

A little stunned, Engineer said, "Wow, uh, ain't that a lovely picture you drew there."

They nodded and gave a muffled reply.

"Thank you Pyro; it's real pretty. Why don't I hang this up on the fridge?"

Pyro said yes. He smiled and carefully folded it into quarters to put into the pocket of his overalls. He was taken off guard when they tackled him into a hug, nearly knocking him down. He was able to steady himself at the last minute by catching himself on the workbench.

"Careful," he scolded with a laugh. Sobering up, he said, "Now before I go hang this up, let's take a look at these sorry piles of scrap."

Pyro let go of their friend and looked at the mess of robotic parts strewn across the workspace. They ran their gloved hand over the layers of various kinds of fabrics and rubber sheets layered under the metal shell of their robotic foe. The first few layers were charred nearly beyond recognition; however, the layers closer to the robot's core were in better condition. The effects of the flames could still be clearly smelled along with the dirt and oil.

"Huh. Would'ya look at that," Engineer said, picking up the robot's arm. "This here's a different metal altogether."

Pyro poked the fabric layers. "Hudduh hurr?"

"What's that, you ask?" Engineer leaned in close, squinting his eyes behind his goggles. "That there looks like asbestos fabric. Looks a lot like your suit, firebug."

Pyro crossed their arms and mumbled a complaint.

"I know, I know. Well that explains why it wasn't burning so well, don't it?"

They nodded. "Uhh huh!"

Engineer placed a hand on their shoulder. "Good job, partner." Although he couldn't see their face, he somehow knew they were smiling at him.

At that moment, Scout burst through the doors.

"Woah there! Where's the fire?"

Pyro pointed at themself and laughed.

Engineer chuckled, shaking his head. "Ain't that the truth. Anyhow, what do you need, Scout?"

"Have you found anythin' yet? Like, anything I can report to Miss Pauling?"

"Well, that depends on what you need to know." He absently flexed his metal hand, feeling the satisfying glide of the well-oiled joints in all but one finger. The faulty joint screeched loudly, causing Scout to cringe and bring his hands up to cover his ear. Engineer gave an apologetic smile and let his hand relax again. "Sorry 'bout the noise." Holding up the damaged prosthetic, he added, "I've been meaning to fix the darn thing since I woke up, but I just haven't been able to with all these robots lying all over the place. As for them, here's what I've found so far."

Engineer waved Scout over to the workbench and he jogged over. Over the next little while, he briefed him on his current findings, pointing to the pieces as he spoke. He explained that they were all equipped with the Australium extraction hoses and were mostly constructed of the same materials, outside of some of the obvious flame retardance with Pyro's. Each one, from what he had found, was meant to target a specific person and was designed to be resistant to their methods of combat. Outside of the technical aspects he could see, Engineer said he had no clue about how their programming worked or why they were sent, but he said he was looking into it. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that they were sent from Gray Gravel Co.

RED Team Base, Common Room - Badlands, New Mexico. Wednesday, March 28th, 1973.

"Come on, pick up…" Scout said, pacing at the length of the phone's cord. Still the phone continued to ring without the other end answering it. It was his second time dialling; she always answered within the first five rings.

The staticy phone played the recorded message that said, "Hi, you've reached Catherine Bradley! I'm sorry I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave your name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks, sweetie!"

The line beeped, prompting him to leave his message. "Yeah hey, uh, Ma? It's me. I… hope you're doin' okay and all that; it's not like you to let the phone go to voicemail. Give me a call when you get this. Uh, I love ya." He hung up the phone and sighed.

Scout's thoughts raced through the possibilities, best and worst case scenarios at war with one another. He hoped she just got invited out with her girlfriends for the night. Gray Gravel Co. didn't know where his Ma lived, so it couldn't have been that. Or so he told himself.

Before he could get too lost in his worrying, he remembered he still had a gorgeous woman to call: Miss Pauling. Surely, with all his important information to report, she'd have to stay on the line for a few minutes. If he was lucky, she'd be willing to stick around to chat as well.

Scout punched in the number to her mobile phone and waited.

"Hello?" she huffed, sounding as though she were racing in a marathon.

"Hey, Miss Pauling." He smiled flirtatiously then remembered she wasn't there to see it.

"Scout, what is it?"

He propped his forearm against the wall. "What're you doin'?"

The coarse sound of a shovel meeting sandy dirt came through. "Working. You know, because I get one day off a year and you wasted it. Again."

"Oh. So… what does The Administrator have you doin' today?"

"Burying bodies." Miss Pauling gave a breathy laugh. "The ground is…" She grunted as he heard her force the shovel down, "really dry."

"That… sounds like fun," Scout said, trying to sound interested.

"If you don't have anything important to say, bother me some other time, okay?"

Scout straightened himself up. "Uh, no. No, I've got lots of important stuff to say!"

"If this 'important stuff' involves asking me out, the answer is no." The shovel clattered to the ground, then he heard the wind blow through the speaker.

He laughed uncomfortably. "Who said I was gonna ask you out? Looks like you want to go out with me."

"Scout, I mean it."

"Okay, okay, fine. Uh, somethin' bad happened last night."

"How bad?"

"Robots. Lots of 'em. This group of them ambushed us last night and some of us almost died."

"What?" Miss Pauling moved something on her end of the line, making a thump sound. Scout figured she was moving a body. "Didn't Medic heal you guys?"

"Ya see, that's part of the problem here. He ran out of Medi Gun fluid like two weeks ago."

"Two weeks!" she shrieked. "Scout, why didn't you tell me?"

Scout reclined against the wall. "It's his freakin' gun; not my problem."

She sighed. "I'll order more and have a shipment sent as soon as possible. What else happened?"

"Engie's been lookin' at the robots, and they're really freakin' weird. They're, like, built to target one of us and were meant to be resistant to our attacks. Like, Pyro's was really fire-proof. That kind of crap."

"Did he find anything else?"

"Dunno. He said they were from Gray Gravel Co., that's for sure."

"That means they're taking a more aggressive approach. Crap…" Another thud. Scout guessed she tossed the body into the hole she was digging. "Thanks for telling me."

"Yeah, sure thing. Oh, right, I almost forgot: one of 'em went after Sniper. It pulled out one of those weird tube things."

"What about it?"

"We thought he had some Australium in his blood. Ya know, 'cuz he grew surrounded with that crap. Don't worry; Medic ran a test, and he ain't got any."

Miss Pauling let out a sigh or relief. "Thank God. It must have just gotten desperate enough to resort to that."

"Wait, t-they do that?"

"Yeah." She chuckled. "You didn't know that?"

"No, I mean, uh, yeah! Yeah, 'course I knew that!"

Sounding slightly irritated, she said, "Anything else?"

"Uh, no."

"Well, if you don't need anything else, I've got work to do," Miss Pauling said.

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

"Goodbye, Scout."

She hung up, leaving Scout with his thoughts once more. He dived onto the sofa, clicked on the grainy television set, and sat on the sofa. It only took a few moments for him to remember that the baseball season wouldn't be starting for another week, so he couldn't tune into the opening game to distract himself. Scout groaned and forced himself to watch the cheesy action flick that was currently airing. It was enough to quiet his fears for the moment.

The hours dragged by. Scout glanced up at the clock on the wall after the credits began; it was late and he regretted staying up to finish the movie. He yawned, stretched, then put himself to bed.

He rolled onto his side, he tried kicking his blankets off, pulling them back up again, and then laying on his back once more. No matter which way he positioned himself, he couldn't get comfortable. Scout's mind wouldn't quiet down long enough to let the relief of a good night's sleep come, not when his mom was probably in danger.

Eventually, after fighting insomnia for a few hours, Scout rolled out of bed and dragged himself down the hall toward the kitchen to grab a snack. Fried chicken would help; it could solve anything.

Just as he was about to leave the sleeping quarters, he heard a door behind him click open. Checking over his shoulder, he saw Medic leaving one of the rooms. He quickly realized he wasn't leaving his own room; Medic's room was farther down the hall.

Scout smirked and walked back toward him. "Hey, Doc, what were ya doing in Heavy's room?"

"He needed some medical attention," he said matter-of-factly, straightening his glasses.

Scout snorted a laugh. "Did it require kissin' it better?"

Wrinkles of surprise covered his forehead and face started to redden. "Nein."

"Oh, but I think it did."

Medic furrowed his brow. "It didn't."

He smirked. "Oh really?"

"Yes."

Scout's smile somehow managed to look even more conceited. "Really."

He narrowed his eyes as the younger man. With a warning tone, he said, "What are you getting at?"

"You know exactly what I'm gettin' at."

"I don't have time for this."

"Why not?"

Medic gritted his teeth. "Scout, you're trying my patience."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't want to talk about how you and Heavy are doin', huh?"

He didn't respond. Instead, Medic stretched out his clenched hands for a moment, then let them curl up tighter than they had been before. His face flushed red, yet it was unclear if it was because of his anger or embarrassment.

Scout snickered at first and was soon howling with laughter without regard for the hour of the night. "God, I knew it! I so freakin' knew it!" He continued, laughing so hard that he keeled over and pulled his arms across his stomach. Between breaths, he said, "It was so obvious!" "Doc's got a boyfriend! Doc's got a-"

"Schweinehund!" Medic growled, shoving him by the neck against the wall with a thud.

Scout clawed at the man's hands, kicking wildly yet somehow failing to hit his attacker with any of them. His face rapidly turned from pink to red to purple. As black spots danced in his vision, the door opened.

"Doctor?" Heavy asked. "What is the matter?"

Medic looked over and offered a tight-lipped smile. "Funny you should ask that. I am choking Scout."

He raised an eyebrow. "Choking Scout?"

"Well, no. Choking is what happens when you inhale a piece of food. What I am doing is strangling Scout with my bare hands." Tightening his grip a little, he pleasantly added, "Go back to bed, Misha."

Scout tried once again to pry the hands off of his neck and gasped for air.

Eying them from head to toe, he said, "Let little baby man go." Heavy then turned back around and shut the door.

Medic pursed his lip thoughtfully and slightly loosened his grip before letting go all together. The young man tumbled to the floor in a heap.

"W-What the hell is wrong with you?" he wheezed. With some effort, he got back to his feet. Scout coughed several times, rubbing at his throat and using the wall to support himself.

Medic huffed, crossing his arms and sending a murderous glare his way. "You should be thankful that I let you live."

"What's the-" He paused to cough again. "big deal?"

He let out a weary sigh, sounding as though any energy he had had been spent in his murder attempt. "The love we have, it's…" He flitted his eyes to the door. "verboten."

A second later, and Scout registered the concern. "Oh. Yeah, right. That."

"If you tell anyone, I will kill you."

"Okay okay, fine. I won't tell, whatever. But what's in it for me?"

"Scout, I mean it. You can't talk about this."

"I won't." Scout held up a finger. "On one condition."

Medic groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What is it?"

"Get me a date with Miss Pauling. Steak dinner."

"Mein Gott, is that it?"

Scout tapped his chin as he thought. "Now that you mention it, I also want season's tickets to the Red Sox games, a new car…"

"I'll get you the date, but nothing else"

"You're not in much of a spot to be negotiatin' here," he said with a smug grin.

"Would you like to be dead?"

"God, no."

Medic smiled. "We have a deal, then."

Scout held out his hand, which Medic shook rigidly. With a short nod, the man departed for his own room, then Scout went on his own way. Once he was in the kitchen, he yanked the fridge open and grabbed his bucket of fried chicken, plopping down in a chair at the table and setting the food beside him. Munching on a leg, he thought of what he'd wear to impress Miss Pauling. The suit jacket he had in his bedroom closet back home in Boston would emphasize his shoulders. With an outfit as sleek as that, there'd be no way she'd be able to resist his incredibly sexy looks and obvious charm. It still puzzled him as to why she hadn't fallen for him yet. A steak dinner had to be enough to win her heart. After all, who didn't love a juicy steak with a funny, handsome man such as himself?

AN: Thanks for reading! I'm glad I was able to get this chapter out in a better time-frame than I have in the past. Let's see if I can keep it up! I hope you've been enjoying this so far; comments and constructive criticism are always welcome and appreciated!

Also, did anyone catch the Borderlands 2 reference?