A/N: Surprise from the dead writer! I know it's been around three months since I updated anything, but school, stress and studies do that. Luckily the exams are ending and holidays are coming, though still I have no idea what to write about. I give you guys many sincere apologies, honestly.

This one-shot is for my buddy Emily, of which loves Scout till she dreams of him. Keep that love going and stop making me jealous that the Medic doesn't appear in my dreams, would you? Also, please note that this story kinda breaks the rules and brings back the Backpack that the Scout was supposed to have.

Disclaimer: I do not own Team Fortress 2, but I would love a pocket Medic :3

"We have taken the enemy's Intelligence."

"I sure did!"

"Scout!"

"Fine: 'we' did,"

Bullets and rockets flew across the battlefield, scattering blood and body parts—or gibs, as everyone said—around the area. The screams of pain and hollers of battle-ready mercenaries were as loud as the gunfire, but one thing everyone could hear was the Administrator's announcement. Both RED and BLU Teams heard something different, one of triumph and one of dread and disappointment.

You couldn't help but grin as you sped and ducked under the rain of bullets from the RED Heavy, your two dogtags bumped against the RED's Intelligence, of which was hardly affecting your speed. You would shot that bald fatty later—after your Team won, of course.

Thinking about the BLU Team reminded you off the first time you signed the contract and joined the hidden war as the first female mercenary. Rules had changed since the Second World War (well, not for the Soldier's case), and your speed and agility got you in easily, albeit not when it came to fitting in. That took time, and weeks did it take indeed with a lingering distrust of other nations in the other eight men. The war really did influence a lot.

Your train of thoughts was quickly shredded apart when you felt something colliding into you. Gravity shifted, dragging you back and throwing you against the sandy ground. Most of the falling impact was absorbed by the RED Intelligence of which was thrown off by it, but the fall was still strong enough to knock some breath out of you.

The disappearance of the rest of your breath was due to your counterpart, the RED Scout. He lay about a foot away, and you felt a mix of scorn and adoration—well, mainly scorn, for he didn't fly backwards—when you noticed him. He groaned and forced his arms to prop himself up, looking back at you. For a brief moment, his grey-blue eyes locked with yours. It was clouded with a mix of emotions, making it unreadable. Was it hate? Or maybe anger?

BEEP-BEEP!

After a Level 3 Sentry's warning, everything seemed to zip pass and slow down at the same time. The sounds of rockets and bullets, the short rustle of haste, the warmth of another and the hiss of pain, all seemed to happened so fast. And yet you felt nothing but warmth and a sense of comfort and safety.

From a distance the RED Sentry beeped idly, scanning the area once more. You stared at the RED runner in astonishment and bewilderment and tried to pull away, but he simply stared up into your eyes, a pained but determine look, and held you firm.

The wordless message was passed and understood: Sentries were colour-sensitive.

You knew this. You've heard of accidents and the Soldier complaining about being shot by the Engineer's Sentries. The crazy fighter was covered in blood then, and with the Sentry programmed to shoot anything red, there was a tad of friendly fire. Of course, the Soldier admitted that the bullets didn't actually hit him, but the rockets did. You shuddered, remembering the bloody mess the Soldier was in, especially the arm hanging by a strip of skin. The Medic had fun healing that, you could hear him laughing from the mess room about bones snapping back together.

It was then did you feel some warm and wet, and the sharp salty scent of copper invaded your nose. With your train of thoughts interrupted, you glanced around frantically, at the blood that drenched your clothes, at the RED Scout, now limp and still, but breathing. A large wound covered his back, caused by the Sentry's rocket, bleeding and slightly burnt. You pulled yourself away from your counterpart, then froze.

The RED Sentry beeped idly.

You released the breath that was caught in your throat, before twisting around to survey your blood-stained clothes, feeling both grateful and worried. With effort, you managed to lift him up by the arms, half dragging, half carrying him along. The Intelligence could wait.

A bloody trail was painting the ground behind the two of you as you pulled him along. As a Scout, you knew nearly every shortcuts and hidden places of every battlement you were dumped in, and you were grateful for that as you passed several trailer carts. The song of war was more muffled and harder to hear, since no one ever came by here. With a huff, you laid the RED runner down and checked his wounds, swallowing back any bile that threatened to rise.

The wound on his back was the worst and most recent. You hissed, imagining the pain, before pulling your backpack off and fumbling with the contents inside. Your aluminium bat clattered onto the floor, followed by at least three cans of BONK! Atomic Punch. Organizing weapons weren't really the most important things to you as long as you could grab something fast, and by now you somewhat regretted that habit.

Finally, your fingers grasped something hard and box-like and you pulled out a health kit with triumph. Even though you knew that Mann Co.'s crazy products could do magic, you were still hurried. Sure, health packs healed fast, but pain still sucks.

Your hands were deft in their work, cleaning the wound and bandaging it up nicely. You placed the first-aid box down with a smile, dusting your hands, then frowning at your blood-soaked bandages. Would it affect your grip?

With a sigh, you shifted from your earlier kneeling position to sit down, legs crossed. "Well, even though the health isn't the best, at least he'll live, right?" you asked out loud to no one in particular. It's… comforting, somehow, especially since it had been a long time since you heard anything near quiet. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, before your gaze returned to check the RED Scout next to you.

His ice-blue eyes stared right back.

"Whoa!" You jumped back by instincts, startled. It took you a moment to settle back down, and all that while the RED sat upright. You smile nervously. "Since when-"

"Since always," he cut you short, twisting his head to check his back—the medication worked like a miracle. "Don't I get any thanks fah savin' ya life?" He shot you a smirk, a mix of obnoxiousness and pride, yet it looked childish and playful. Somehow that made your cheeks burn, but you couldn't tell if it was anger, annoyance, or something else.

"Don't I get any thanks for fixing you up?" you retorted, leaning back one a hand and toying with your baseball bat with the other. "Unless you would prefer for me to give you back those wounds…" you trailed off with a grin.

The RED maintained bravado. "Heck, I didn't ask you to patch me up,"

"Well I didn't ask you to shield me."

Silence. "You're quick," he concluded after a while, "but I'm quicker."

You placed your hands on your hips. "Oh really?"

He grinned. "Yea, really."

"Prove it." you prompted.

The RED Scout remained silent for a few moments. "Does da rescue count?"

You shook your head. "Do a feat now; I'm sure it won't take long."

The Bostonian stared into your eyes, then everything happened it a flash: You felt his hand slipping through your hair to caress your head, being gently tugged forward, before your lips were pressed against his, the distinctive taste of cherry caught on your tongue. You were stunned, too surprised to move, even when he pulled away. That blasted grin was still plastered on his face.

You blinked and swallowed hard, regaining your senses. "What was-"

"Toldja I was quick," he smirked, "how didcha like that thank-whoa!" He quickly dodged to the side, your aluminium bat missing him by a silver. With lightning quick reflexes, he jumped up and began running, laughing. Was he taunting you now? Oh, he was so gonna get it.

You were up in an instant, grabbing your backpack and chasing after him. As you slung the strap around yourself, an announcement boomed through the place:

"The enemy has taken our Intelligence!"

"Goddammit, he is fast," you cursed under your breath. The cries of war were beginning to settle in your brain, making you slightly uncomfortable for you had just gotten accustomed to quieter settings. With a blush on your face, you ran back into the battlefield.

You'd give him a thank you, alright.

Something better than his.

You grinned.

Do not expect a sequel, smut's not up my alley, especially when keeping characters in chracter.

Pleasant days and peaceful nights.