The young Scout groaned silently as he tightened the bandages around his upper arm. He was sure he had a bullet - or at least something - stuck in there. It hurt either way, and he had been bleeding quite a bit. Thankfully enough he wasn't worse off, like some of his teammates who the Medic was busy putting back together. Small wounds like the one the youngster had wasn't enough for the german to heal him up just then, so he'd have to stop the bleeding himself. There had been a short, bloody encounter with the Blu team earlier, but overall it had been a very calm day. It honestly made the young scout restless.

He decided to take a look around the base - lacking anything better to do - while the Medic worked on fixing his teammates up. Bored and with a stinging, somewhat throbbing pain shooting through his arm, the youngster retreated to his so-called room. Well, the room where he slept and had the few personal belongings he'd been allowed to bring into the base. He sat down on the bed, leaning back against the wall and lazily he began throwing his baseball against the wall opposite of him, catching it when it came bouncing back. Unfortunately for him he had to throw with the 'wrong' arm - as his other one was injured - and having the worst of luck the ball bounced off the wall to the side, out the door into the corridor. He glared at the ball, cursing whoever had shot him in the arm.
He didn't like to admit it, but he felt quite handicapped although his wounds were rather minor.

After glaring at the ball just lying there on the floor, mockingly, Scout got up from his bed and headed out the corridor again to pick the damn thing up.

Sniper walked down the hallway, lazily rubbing the back of his neck, the days battle had gone extremely slowly for him and after several unexpected trips to the medical bay he was feeling rather run down. His previously optimistic take on the day at its start had now stretched to the point of none existence, to put it frankly, he was tired, sore and grouchy. Everything he didn't want to be for going back onto the battlefield.

Sometimes he hated living in this place, sometimes it felt more cramped than his own camper van. It was clinical, the place had an unnatural stench of wood rot mixed with the anti bacterial wash of the medical bay, but this was his home now.
He learned long ago to accept that until this seemingly never ending war finished, the hot sands of the Australian outback would never embrace him again.

Deep in his own web of thought, the Sniper had not noticed the small ball that rolled carelessly out of one of the dorm rooms and into the hall, infact it was only when the bushman stood on said ball, falling arse over tit on his face, did he realise it's presence and immediately cursed its existence.

Scout had just walked out from his little room when he saw the sniper in the corner of his eye. With his eyes only on the ball, the youngster didn't realize how close his older teammate was. Not until said man unproffessionally tripped over the Scouts baseball, at least. After the unlucky trip and fall, Scouts mood was drastically changed from grumpy to highly entertained, as he bursted out laughing at the fallen Sniper, mocking his ability to trip on a baseball.

"Haha! Hey, nice fall numbnut!" Scout teased with a mocking grin. He picked up his ball and decided to help the older gentleman up, so he reached for Sniper his hand. Although the youngster hadn't really made any ifriends/i at the base, he did act like somewhat of a younger brother towards most of his teammates. Pointing out their faults cockily, but still minding the fact that they were in this together. He was smart enough to not make any enemies within his own team, as any of the men around him might need to save his life one day.

The only thought running through the Snipers mind was how much of a bloody idiot he must have looked. Tripping over a ball when no one was around to see it happen was all fair and well, but tripping over in the presence of one of his team mates was just embarrassing. Reluctantly he grabbed hold of the Scouts hand, hoisting himself up off of the ground.
"Cheers, mate. Let's keep this between you n' me, ye?"

The Australian let out a heavy sigh and frowned at the youngsters not-so-discreet amusement towards his unfortunate incident, turning his attention to the bandage on the Bostonians arm. Although he didn't know nearly as much about medicine as Medic did he was pretty used to patching himself up properly when times got hard, both on the battlefield an out in the bush.
"Well that's a bloody mess ya made of yaself...C'mon, let's patch you up..."

As Scout helped the australian up he grinned teasingly at him - almost slyly - as if he wasn't promising he wouldn't tell. Although, he probably wouldn't. He'd had his accidents too, and he hated the embarrassment of letting other people know about them. The Sniper looked his arm over, Scout noticed, and he snorted confidently when the older man commented on his - in the youngsters eyes - excellent self-bandaging.
"Pfff, I'm fine, it doesn't even hurt-" Scout cockily tossed his baseball from his left hand to his right, but as the muscles in his upper right arm tensed as he moved his arm, a striking pain shot though it and he winced, dropping the ball yet again. He glared grumpily at the little ball while holdig his upper arm, and those almost childishly grumpy eyes were soon directed towards Sniper. He hated to look so injured and weak, and he liked to show that he could take care of himself.
"Alright, fine...if you think you can do it better" He muttered, realizing that it perhaps was best to let Snipes take a gander, and maybe even get the bullet out.

Sniper lead the youngster back to the medical bay, Medic didn't approve of his other team members marching in if and when they saw fit, "ihow i'm supposed to vork with you Schweinehunds coming in und bothering me all the time is beyond meine understanding..." /i- The Germans voice rang through the Australians mind but were soon ignored. "The doc's a busy bloke..." he stared absently infront of him, assuming that Scout was listening, "He won't mind if I snag a few of his supplies to patch you up."

Once again, Sniper was back in the all-too-clinical med bay, the smell made his head swim with nausia. Turning his gaze towards the young Scout he lazilly patted one of the beds, signalling him to lay down, thankfully the little gremlin complied...all be it reluctantly. Shuffling around in the various cabinates and drawers Sniper found the tools he needed; anti-bacterial wash, new bandages and a pair of tweezers.

The bushman peeled away the grimey bandages Scout had previously used and observed the wound, not the worst injury he had seen, not by a long shot, but then again it wasnt good either. No injury was.
"Alright gremlin listen up, as much as I know you love to run around and keep on the get-go, itry/i refrain from movin', yeah...?"
He grabbed the tweezers and snapped them together a few times, making each sides of the sharp metal tap together in an all be it unnerving manner, "...because if you move while these things're in ya they'll cause more damage than that scrawny bit o' lead in there has, alright?"
Sniper didn't hear if the youngster had retorted back to his previous statement before - quite frankly he didn't care - all he wanted to do was to get back to his bed and just sleep... Or hibernate...Or fall into a coma...Right now he'd welcome any rest he could get his hands on.

Slowly he began to clean the wound with the anti-bacterial wash, trying to avoid causing the Scout any more pain although this was easier said than done.
"Stings like a bitch, don't it? No need to keep up the tough guy act around me, lad. These eagle eyes of mine can see right through it." He resoaked a small medical pad with the wash and continued to clean the wound, now talking to himself more than he was to the Bostonian,
"I can't stand the bloody stuff. This wash stuff. Never registered with me how somethin' that causes more pain can help ya get better but I guess thats just me-" the bushman stopped briefly to turn the bottle of clear liquid in his hands
"-tell you what though, I might hate the shit but it gets the bloody job done a helluva lot quicker than if ya didnt have it. If it hurts then it works. iYou'd do well to remember that, lad/i" placing the bottle and now bloodied medical pads down on the table next to him, the sharp-shooter scooped up the medical tweezers, resting his free hand on the kids shoulder.

"Remember what I said, yeah? Keep still. And it might do ya some good if ya watch what I'm doin', never know ya might need to repay me for this favour should I get a bollocking from a bullet...Not to mention maybe ya wont need my help next time you get shot..." Sniper smirked "...which knowing iyou/i, will be sooner rather than later..."

Scout once again picked up his ball as Sniper began to head back to the medical bay, and he gave it an accusing look, as if it was the ball's fault he looked like a weakling. The youngster threw the ball back into his room and shut the door loudly, to make sure the round little thing stayed in there. He then followed the australian, staying closely behind him and glancing at him from time to time, when he wasn't busy looking around at the ugly and boring walls around them that looked like they belonged in a freaking psyche ward. Everything was so plain and boring, so ugly. Then again a place like this wasn't supposed to be pretty, Scout figured.

As they entered the medical bay, Scout took little notice of anything that wasn't some sort of tool for...whatever the Medic used them for. The youngster had never liked doctors - or their tools - and their Medic was like a doctor gone bad, so it was even worse than it normally was. That was also one reason for the bostonian to prefer to take care of himself, and only ask help from the Medic when he absolutely needed it. If he could save himself from being operated on he would, but then again he rather go through the torture and live than let himself die just because he had ia bit/i of a phobia for doctors.

When the Scout was wordlessly advised to lay down on one of the uncomfortable beds, he complied, though he didn't really want to. He did eventually lie down and stared up at the plain white cieling, with a few cracks and bright lights hanging down to shed some light on the patient's wounds. The youngster quickly turned his attention to the Sniper again, who was looking for whatever he needed to take care of the youngsters wound. He seemed to find what he was looking for, but exactly what it was Scout couldn't see. He watched as the bandages came off, and bit his tongue a bit not to whimper when some of the blood had dried and got stuck in the bandages, which hurt quite badly when they were removed. He was NOT going to squirm like a little kid in front of the bushman.

The task to keep a straight face became harder as his older teammate showed off the tweezers, and that sound they made when the metal plates hit each other, got Scout's pupils to shrink. He quickly sat up, the sight of - even if it just was Snipes - a man standing over him with those tools, intending to put them in his arm, was incredibly uncomfortable, and the youngster rather sit up facing his torturer.
"...you better know what the hell you're doing with those things."
He said looking a bit nervous - as he was - but still trying to keep that look of self-confidence on his face.

As Sniper began to clean the wound, Scout was well on his way to break his teeth, clenching them so hard in an attempt not to whimper or groan in pain. But he'd be lying if he said it didn't hurt, and obviously the australian knew that very well too. It only irritated the youngster though, and he cursed silently as he tried hard to keep his cool. If the bushman was so damn good at seeing things, how come he had to look in a freaking scope to be able to kill his enemies. Scout's irritated thoughts were cut off when his older teammate seemed to really get into that wound to clean it properly. And then it was time for the freaking tweezers. The young Scout could've sworn his heart stopped for a second, and he briefly thought of stopping the Sniper and just get the hell out of there while he could. But no, he wasn't going to worm his way out of this, he'd show that australian that he was just as tough as him. And he'd watch the procedure too.

Finally, when he got that smirk from the bushman, Scout's cockyness got the better of him, and he threw back a 'Oh yeah?'-kind of look at the older man. "'Least I don't hide and shoot people from freakin' miles away, I'm out there bashin' their skulls in all day, everyday! I'd like to se iyou/i do that. Besides, I hit them a lot more than ANY of those knuckleheads are able to hit ime/i."
He grinned confidently and almost seemed to forget the fact that his arm was a mess, and that the Sniper was about to probably do something rather painful with those tweezers. He was quickly reminded, though, and that grin on his face was washed away so quickly nobody could ever have guessed it had even been there.

Scout clenched his fist around the edge of the bed, keeping as still as he could with the help of Snipers hand on his shoulder, but staying quiet was impossible. Finally it hurt too badly, and his left hand grabbed ahold of the arm of the australian, almost as if he was trying to stop him. But, it was honestly mostly to give the youngster a chance to steady himself as he yelped in pain.
"D-damn! Easy, man!" He complained, his voice sounding very strained at this point, which wasn't a surprise as he had to try really hard to keep any pained sounds back as pain rushed through his entire arm. He squeezed the australians upper arm rather tightly, doing so giving some relief, though not much.

The Australian winced slightly was the young Scouts hand clamped tighter around his upper arm. The boy was in pain, and as rough around the edges Sniper was, he didn't enjoy seeing any of his team mates like this. Especially the kid.

Truth be told the bushman was probably one of the most solitary members of RED, and although he got along well with pretty much everyone, Scout included, he never really thought of them as friends. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to call them friends! But there was something about the kid that made something deep within him call out. A call to protection.

The tweezers scrapped against the hard lead of the bullet embedded in the Bostonians arm, progress at least.
"Steady now, lad..." the bushman glanced at his team mate and smiled reassuringly, hoping that it would comfort the boy somewhat. As gently as he could, the Sniper slid the tweezers around the bullet and pulled, trying to ignore the sickening bubble of blood beginning to flow freely from the wound.

With one last tug the bullet freed itself from its fleshy prison, much to the relief of the bushman and seemingly much to the relief of the now rather pale Scout.
"I expect the same hospitality in return, lad. There ain't no I in Team..." the sniper grinned and winked at the youngster laying before him, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder,
"Ya did good kid. Now rest up. Oh, n' try not to lose control of that baseball of yours eh? I'd rather not fall flat on my arse anymore. Heh.."

The yougster neary whimperrd by the sheer thought of what pain would come as Sniper told him to hold steady, and who wouldnt when you had those tweezers poking around in your arm. He let a strained, pained moan leave his mouth, it giving him some relief as he could feel the bushman grab ahold of the lead in his arm. He had to hold on to his teammate for all he was worth, and thankfully enough Snipes was able to help keep him steady when the bullet was pulled out. A sigh of great relief that it was over left the young Scouts lips, and though his injured arm was shaking slightly it really felt like the worst of the paincauser had been removed, like his wound now was empty. He could feel blood slowly beginning to follow his arm down, but Scout just refrained from looking. He didnt like to see himself bleed, it was somehow worse than seeing others injured.

For a brief moment the youngster thought about how protective the Sniper was of him, and so helpful too. Maybe he had a soft spot for 'kids', maybe he was even a dad. A married man with kids, perhaps. Then again if thar was the case, why would he even be here. It seemed everyone was there for a reason, simply because they had nothing else outside of the base. If any of them had children or wives, why would they live here and risk their lives every day? Scout felt in all honesty more at home at the base with his teammates, than he'd ever felt at home with his mom. Maybe it was because he finally felt like he had a purpose, felt like he was part of something important. Or perhaps it was because of all the potential fatherfigures he had surrounded himself with. Growing up without a dad, learning everything 'manly' he knew from other boys in his neighbourhood, the youngster was in need of guidance although he denied it. He wouldn't call Sniper a father figure for him, but he was a man the Scout looked up to, someone he wouldn't mind learning from. He also wanted to constantly show the australian that he could take care of himself, show that he was becoming better att fighting for each day.

Still in pain the young Scout grit his teeth and held back a pained sound as he finally began to let go of the older mans arm, now letting his hand only rest on the mans shoulder.
"Oh I'll make damn sure to do this to you someday" he muttered as he finally glanced over at his own wound, and the bullet that had been removed. Whoever the asswad who'd shot him was, Scout would make sure to make him pay. As Snipes gave the scout that look and commented about his ball, the youngster actually brought himself to grin back teasingly.
"Yeah well maybe you should use those so-called 'eagle eyes' of yours to look where you put your freaking feet." He talked back and finally realized he was still holding Snipers arm, though lightly. The bostonian looked his bleeding wound over briefly, and wondered of he should ask for help in
wrapping bandages around himself, or if he should do it himself. He decided to show he could do things by himself, and was able to get ahold of some bandages he messily tried to wrap around his injured arm.

i"Oh I'll make damn sure to do this to you someday"/i
The pained words of the Scout echoed in Snipers mind as he let out a small chuckle,
"I'm sure you will, mate. I expect it. Ya owe me one way or another for this."
The bushman continued to smirk and began clearing up the bloodied medical equipment, although not moving out of the light hold that the Bostonian still had on his arm - Perhaps the kid didn't realise he was still holding onto him - either way Sniper didn't mind, infact he welcomed it. Seldom was it that team members would touch another team member, maybe the odd manly slap on the back or high five if a days battle went well, but no long lasting contact. It was nice. Thinking back to days before recruited him and the relationships he had seemed like a dream, a distant memory. The bushman was not unfamiliar with relationships with either sex. Man, woman, didn't matter. Either way he was happy back then. He was happy now too, but at times he felt somewhat void of physical contant from another human. He frowned at the thought, but he was happy that the kid next to him had gotten shot. Not for the pain that he suffered, but more for the closeness and being able to learn just a bit more about his personality.

Thoughts of this nature were swiftly forgotten when he noticed the Scout clumsily attempting to wrap up his arm.
"I aint done all that bloody work for ya to go piss it all up again, lad. I may as well finish the job..."
The Sniper sighed, exasperated by the kids seemingly constant need to show he could take care of himself.
Gently scooping up the bostonians arm, the bushman began properly wrapping the wound up, mindlessly resting his knee against the side of the bed to help prop the kids arm up while he did his handy work.
"There, that ought'a do it. For now anyway." Making a small knot in the bandage to stop it coming undon, the bushman stood up, cracked his neck with relief and smiled warmly at the injured Scout, offering a hand to help him up off of the bed.
"Y'alright, kid? Today's been a quiet one. I'd suggest ya get some rest. Day's almost done n' I doubt we'll be needin' ya out there anymore. Make sure ya go see the Doc when he's free, the 'Sniper Special Treatment' aint a long haul thing."

The Sniper winked, tipping his hat in a silent goodbye before heading out the door.
"Oh, and try not to get shot next time" he continued walking, not looking back at the kid, a smirk stretched across his face.

The Scout almost pulled his arm away when Sniper insisted on helping him yet again, and he gave the older man a bit of a grumpy glare. He didn't like being treated like he couldn't do anything by himself. He knew he could. Well, at least that was what he kept telling himself. His mom had been just like this, never letting him do anything on his own, always insisting on helping him with even the easiest of tasks. For a young man like Scout who was just about to grow into an adult - although it might not seem like it, what with his flawed view on the world - that got pretty frustrating.
"Jeez man, I CAN take care of myself, you know." He protested somewhat, but it was no use, and the youngster eventually gave in and let the australian do the job. When he was done, Scout's arm was neatly bandaged and although he was still hurting it felt a lot better than before. At least now he could move his arm without feeling like it was about to fall off. When offered a hand, he grasped the older man's and got himself upp off the bed, taking care not to use his injured arm to get up which was a bit of a hard thing to do. He was used to doing most things with his right arm, the left one was kind of just there to help sometimes, but somehow it felt like he couldn't quite control his left arm as well as the right one. So, all in all the youngster did feel a bit handicapped at this point.

"Yeah I'm fine. One tiny little bullet aint gonna take me out, why don't you do yourself a favor and stop worrying."
Scout said as his voice had returned to it's old self, showing no signs of pain although it was obvious he was still hurt. Just to try, the youngster moved his arm slightly and found that it didn't hurt too bad as long as he moved his arm calmly and didn't put too much strain on it. Hopefully it would heal up fine - if it did there was no way he'd go see the Medic, if he could he rather stay out of that madmans way - but if it didn't he'd have no choice but to follow Snipes suggestion. Why he cared so much about whether or not the bostonian went to get some professional help for his arm was beyond Scout, though he kind of felt like he'd be acting the same way. If Sniper was hurt he wouldn't want him to just stay out of the Medic's way and try to take care of himself, so in a way he could understand the older man's concern. It seemed he'd formed a sort of bond with him, that wasn't really a friendship but it was still deeper than just a teammate. Scout would for example not give two shits whether or not any of the others got injured. Of course if any of them died he'd be worried for his own safety as it would be easier for the enemy to take the entire team out, but he wouldn't really feel bad for the person dying himself.

As the australian began to walk off, Scout briefly wondered if he should get back to his room as well and get some rest like the Sniper suggested. Well he didn't exactly feel tired, but there wasn't much to do around the base other than sleep and walk around when there wasn't a fight going on. Maybe take a shower every now and then, but it wasn't like that was 'fun' either. The only fun thing he usually passed his time by doing, - alone in his room when nobody was there - he simply couldn't now as his injured arm probably wouldn't let him without causing the youngster a lot of pain. The painful realization had the Scout curse silently. So, he probably HAD to go see the Medic at some point, otherwise he'd go completely mad, as he was in that delightful part of his life where hormones were running wild, quite uncontrollably so. If he had to choose between letting the mad german take a look at his injured arm, or simply refrain from 'entertaining' himself, the Scout would without a doubt choose to go through the torture of letting the Medic take a look at his injuries.

"Man I aint even tired..." Scout mumbled to himself when he began to realize that the only option for him was basically to go to bed already, if he didn't want to just stare up at the cieling for a couple of hours. And lord knows he wouldn't be able to stay still that long. He glanced up at Sniper who was now well on his way out of the medical bay, and the quick bostonian soon caught up with him.
"Hey, Snipes, you're not going to bed already are you?"

The Sharpshooter sighed and fixed his eyes on the young Scout as he caught up to him.
"Why can't you just stay still, kid?" Not meaning to sound as stern as he just did, Snipes cleared his throat and shifted the subject slightly,
"n' no, I ain't going ta bed just yet. If I'm not needed, which is more than likely, then I intend on grabbin' a cuppa coffe n maybe a bite to eat." He shifted his gaze out to the battlefield, looking through the dusty windows as he continued walking,
"Tomorrow's meant to be a pretty heavy day. Figures seeing as though we got it easy today. Team's gotta get all the rest they can get..." putting emphasis on 'rest' the bushman shot a mock glare at the young Scout, who now seemed alot more lively and back to his usual self. Despite this however, he worried about the kid.

Scout had always been very mindful of others personal business, or so the bushman thought anyway. The kids mind seemed to work on a 'don't-ask-don't-tell' basis, much like his own. From what Sniper had gathered, Scout was a very independant young guy, maybe too independant. He wouldn't say, but Sniper had seen Scout reading countless letters, sent by his mother on days when the base got mail - which has what, once every couple month? - from what he gathered, it seemed like the kid felt pretty tied down back home. Maybe his mum was a little too overprotective? The bushman soon brushed the thought out of his mind and came back to reality.
"Listen, kid." Sniper sighed, knowing that what he was about to say would most likely kick up a shit storm with the youngster,
"If the Doc is too busy to look you over n' heal you tonight then I want ya to stay outta tomorrow. Got it?"
The bushman drew in another quick breath and continued, not giving the bostonian a chance to speak,
"hear me out for a second, your role in this team is to run fast, hit hard and be agile. Right? How are ya gonna get intel from a base swarming with BLU if you aint been healed? Aint gonna work you holding ya little metal stick AND the intel in just one hand."
Sniper rubbed the sides of his head, caught in his own personal frustraition,
"I'm gonna check with the Medic later to see if he's had time to see ya. If he hasnt then you. Are. Going. To. Rest. Tomorrow."
Briefly pointing up at his look out nest,
"If you're out there tomorrow I'll see ya."

The older man studied the younger's face for what seemed like minutes - what was he thinking?- it was pretty hard to tell, the kid looked like he had a million emotions and thoughts running around in his mind all at once. The last thing Sniper wanted was to tell a team mate what they could and couldn't do, no one was the boss in the RED team, even if some members liked to think they were. What Snipes hoped the kid understood was that if he went out there still injured and unrested it would cause more problems for the team on the whole, hell, it could even screw up the chance of victory. Looking at the kid he almost knew what was going through his mind, imore people trying to tell me what to do, just because im the youngest on this team/i ect ect, Scout didn't seem to realise however that, should he go against the bushmans advice, go out there and get into some sort of predicament, Sniper would throw himself down into whatever dangers were there to save the kid. Wouldnt matter if he got hurt in the process.

Oblivious to the fact that the Sniper might not want the youngster to follow him around, Scout let the man's stern words go in one ear and out the other. He didn'y really care if his teammates found him to be a bother, he didn't care if he irritated them or made them want to punch all his teeth out with his cocky larger-than-life selfconfidence. He'd go against anyone who wanted to beat him up, even if he knew he'd probably loose and end up squirming and whimpering like a crushed puppy. The youngster wanted to make decisions himself, he wanted to show that he could stand up for himself and that he had control over his life, although that might be far from the truth. Sure, he'd made the decision to come and stay here, but other than that he felt as if he was constantly held down by someone or something. At this particular time it was Sniper who decided to act like an overprotective parent refusing to let his kid out after dark. Scout just snorted at what the bushman said, and though he wanted - and mind you, tried - to talk back and interrupt, Sniper never gave him a chance. The stern voice giving Scout orders did at times succeed in being intimidating, but still the youngster felt rebellious. But there was - believe it or not - that small logically thinking part of the bostonians brain that understood what his older teammate meant. He hated to think he'd be useless out there, but right now he was, and that was the sad truth.

Irritated, Scout glared at one of the pale walls while all kinds of thoughts ran through his head. Who was Sniper to tell him what to do? What right did he have? None, at all! But he was right...still though, why did he care so much? If they could do fine without Scout on the battlefield, what difference would it make to let him go out there and get himself killed? He imight/i be able to be of use in the proccess, so why not just let him?
"The hell do you care anyway, if I end up gettin' killed they'll take in someone else to replace me. And what are those BLU bastards gonna think if I aint out there tomorrow? That all it takes is just one itty bitty freaking bullet and I'm out? Hell no!"
A fire of rage and frustation was building up in the little body, a frustration he couldn't voice. He was thankful that Sniper seemed to care about him, God knew nobody but his mother had ever done that before, but feeling like a dog on a leash wasn't very pleasant either.

"What're you gonna do if you see me out there then, tough guy? Tell me to go back to my room? You're not my mom you know...not that she could make me stay inside either." The Scout continued, giving his teammate a rebellious glance although he knew that when it came down to it, Sniper was stronger than him, and if he wanted he probably could lock the youngster in somewhere and let him stay there until the battle was over. Boy would he hate that. Not only because he'd be unable to go anywhere, but also because he wouldn't be able to see what was going on outside. If Scout were to stay inside all damn day he at least wanted to be able to view the battle, keep an eye on his teammates and see how well they did, and make sure Sniper didn't get fooled by any Spies, that seemed to mostly be on the hunt for Snipers. Those backstabbing bastards, there was nothing more satisfying than breaking their necks with a bat swung to their heads.

The Australian stared blankly at the Scout, a growl begging to claw its way out of his throat, but rather than cause any further aggro he just sighed.
"I'm not arguing. Kid, I can't make ya do somethin' ya don't wanna do. Y'ai'nt a dog to be trained to jump through hoops...But if you go out there tomorrow and you get in trouble I'll be coming down there to drag you back to the base. You have control over your own life. Not me."
The conversation was begining to get to Sniper, Scouts words cutting into him, spilling out new found anger and frustration towards the stubborn teen.
"Y'know what? Go. Get suited up for battle tomorrow. Get ya little stick n get ya fizzy drinks. Go smash heads in. Go out there all proud n cock sure of yaself!"
Rage. Thats what it now was. Sniper knew he was right, he gave the kid some sound advise and regardless of if the bostonian meant to or not, felt like said advise had been launched high speed back in his face.

The sharpshooter balled his fist. Was the kid's outlook on life that bleak? That he doesnt care if he dies? That none of his team mates would care if he dies? That he'd just be replaced by another guy willing to take on the title of 'Scout' and he would be forgotted?
"Bollocks..." The words hissed from Snipers mouth like venom.
"Thats bloody bollocks...YOU'RE NOT SOME BLEEDIN' TOY THAT CAN BE REPLACED WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT."
He lowered his eyes, unable to look at the kid.
"We need you, Scout. Ya might not think it but hell, we do. You're a crucial member to our team. And-..."
Snipers voice was almost inaudiable it had become so quiet,
"...and I don't want to see you die..."

The silence that followed was agonising. It felt like it went on for hours. The bushman was tired, very tired, he had never been one to argue. To anyone. He'd never needed to before, he had always been a solitary person and even in the relationships he had been involved in before joining he never argued then. iArguments just weren't professional/i. Since he and Scout had met, Sniper had felt a certain empathy for the kid, no one that young should have ever gotten involved in shit like this, atleast thats what he thought. Even before they had started talking properly the australian had always taken special care to gun down any BLU team members who looked like they were about to cause the kid harm on the battlefield. Infact the amount of times he'd saved the kids arse was beyond him. He felt it was his duty to protect the kid. Even if he didn't need or appreciate it.

Finally the silence was broken,
"Look, I'll see you 'round. Take it easy tonight...Ya got intel to retrieve tomorrow..."
He felt sick saying those words. He felt like he was betraying his own moral standing, letting the Scout go, pretty much telling him to jump into tomorrows battle even though it would more than likely be hell on earth given how quiet the day had been.
Not looking the Bostonian in the eye, the Sniper tipped his hat once again and started to walk away down the corridor.
If the kid went out there tomorrow then fine, it was his choice and Sniper respected that.
But he sure as hell wouldnt let any harm come his way. Not if it meant he would have to pay the price of leaving his look out nest to protect the kid with his own thick australian blood.

It was beyond the young bostonian how his older teammate could be so upset. Why did he care, why was it so damn important that the youngster was safe, and why did he get so darn pissed even though he said the Scout may do as he wished. Whatever reason he had to be pissed, it was in an odd way somehow satisfying to know it would upset the man if Scout did go out there the next day, know that the australian would make sure he didn't get vitally injured.
"Good, that's what I'll do! I'll show 'em - and I'll show YOU - that I ican/i still fight even with my arm hurt! If I get killed I'll make sure to take one or two of those numbnuts with me, I aint useless!" He raised his voice just like the older man had, though he probably didn't sound nearly as intimidating. More like a pup trying to growl like it's grown parents could.

The vicious outburst that later came from the australian made the Scout flinch and almost move away from the older man in defense, fearing for a second that he'd smack the youngster across the face, as he was obviously not happy. But what he actually said, despite the tone in his voice, eased the anger that the Scout himself felt. He could tell himself and everyone else over and over that he mattered, that he was untouchable and the best around, but it was completely different to hear it from someone else. To be told that he wasn't worthless, that he mattered. Not only that what he did mattered, but that ihe/i himself as a person couldn't be replaced. A little light seemed to lit up in the kid's eyes as he kept them fixed on the australian, refusing to let him out of his sight now. Every facial expression seemed to tell him so much more than any words could, and when finally the Sniper said he didn't want to see Scout die, the young bostonian honestly didn't know what to say. He felt...well, good somehow. It was awkward to hear something like that from someone who in all reality just was a stranger, but it felt good. Really good, in fact.

As the awkward silence took over the moment, the young Scout looked down at the floor and tried to figure out what he was supposed to think of all this, and what he should do. He still wanted to show he could survive out there, despite being injured, but at the same time he didn't want the Sniper to have to worry about him. If he got his eyes on Scout all the time, there'd be a good chance he'd get shot himself, or backstabbed, and the youngling would just end up being a burden for not only the Sniper, but the entire team. And, he didn't want them to loose, if he caused them to do so by running around out there while injured he'd just make a fool out of himself.

As the two walked further down the corridor, Scout glanced up at the bushman before looking down again. He could see that the man was troubled, but was it really because he was worrying about the youngster and tomorrows battle?
Before the kid had a chance to ponder further about it in the awkward precense of his teammate, the australian decided it was time to part. Conveniently enough, the Scout's room was closeby, so he stopped by the door and followed the older man with his gaze, now feeling not as angry anymore. Now he felt more...well not really confused but, he felt he had a lot to think about.
"Yeah...I'll see you tomorrow, Snipes." The Scout said as he put his hand on the handle, but before entering his room he turned to the older man one last time.
"Hey...thanks for...fixin' my arm and stuff."
The youngster kept his eyes on the Sniper for a moment, before he headed into his room and closed the door behind him.

As the Scout looked up at the Sniper and thanked him for the medical assistence, the Australian couldn't help but soften his expression, cracking a small, all be it exasperated smile. He was extremely tired, drained both physically and emotionally. Despite the lack of action the day had brought it had been a bloody intense one.
Walking to the very end of the corridor, down the stairs and into the open air of the battlegrounds, the older man inhaled deeply, savouring the humid yet fresh air that greeted him. He didn't feel like coffee anymore -or something to eat for that matter- he just wanted to lay down in the shade and watch what little sunlight was left disappear over the horizon.

Too many thoughts ran through the older mans mind, making his head spin. There was so much to think about, so many confusing feelings. All he knew for sure was that he cared about the kid, alot. Enough to risk his own neck to save the youngers. But iwhy/i? This was the main question that reoccured within his tired brain. He'd known everyone on his team pretty much an equal amount of time, gotten to know them to a certain degree -hell, even thought of some of them as his pals- but something about the Scout sent alarm bells ringing, to protect him, to watch his back, to make sure he wasn't getting too much stick from the other team members. But WHY exactly did he feel the need to do this?
Was it because, unlike the other raving lunatics on his team, Scout was probably the most innocent? The most void of violence of this degree in his life? The others had seen their fair share of horrors before joining RED, but what about the kid?

Growling to himself and filled with incertainty, the Bushman walked back inside and went to his own room, although he prefered sleeping in his van to avoid the Soldiers early morning 'American national anthem sing-along' as the others called it, he just wanted to be closer to the team. Closer to ihim/i.
"This is bloody ridiculous..." Sniper sighed as he flopped lazily onto the bed, "nothin's gonna happen to him. Not while im around..." shifting his sight from the cieling to his SMG laid on the table beside him - iI may have to take this with me tomorrow if I'm gonna end up fighting outside the nest/i..-

After half an hour or so of flat out nothingness, the australian kicked off his shoes and stretched out more comfortably on the bed, contemplating wether or not he should walk down to the other end of the corridor to Scouts room to check how he was doing. But instead he opted against it, trying to settle down and prepare for the battle that would rise with the next sun.

"Kid needs his space...he'll be fine tomorrow...ikeep tellin' yaself that/i..."

The scout looked around his room, almost as if he didn't quite know what to do, if he should sit or lie down or just stand there like a freaking idiot. He did the latter for a few minutes, trying to figure out what he was to make of this situation, and if he should spare Sniper the worry and stay inside the base the next day, or if he should act out his rebellious words and fight alongside the others although he was hurt. Even Scout knew that it was probably stupid to go out there in his condition, but he didn't want to just sit inside all day either. Then again he didn't want to risk Sniper getting injured because of him either. Not only would he feel bad about it, he'd be skinned alive by the rest of the team as Sniper was an important part of the team.
"Damn arm..." The youngster cursed lowly in irritation as he finally walked over to his bed to sit down. He glared down at the floor and let the wondering thoughts keep coming. Why did he care if Sniper was killed, why did Sniper care if Scout was killed? It was more than just the fact that they'd loose a teammate, neither of the two wanted to see the other one dead. The bostonian couldn't even picture it. He couldn't picture the australian to lie there, dead. There was just no way he could picture it, or even think that it was a possibility, that maybe tomorrow would be the day the Sniper would die. Scout shook his head rather violently to get the thoughts out of his head. Nobody was going to die the next day, nobody but those BLU bastards. Especially the one who'd shot the youngster, he wanted revenge. Unfortunately for him, the bullet that had been pulled out of his arm looked like the one's the Heavy used for Sasha. He'd have no chance of going up against that giant, especially not while he was inured and barely able to even hold his shotgun properly.

"This sucks, man! I wanna fight too!" Frustration soon got the better of the scout as he voiced his thoughts. He was torn between following the Snipers advice or following his eager heart. Rubbing his hands over his face, the young man took a moment to calm himself down and try to make a decision, although it would be hard. Finally he seemed to have made up his mind. He was going to stay in the base, but keep an eye on the battlefield. Luckily for him the windows were bulletproof so even if anyone would see him up there, they wouldn't be able to shoot through the glass. If by any chance the young Scout felt he could or needed to swoop in and help his teammates, he could do so, but if they seemed to do fine without him he'd stay put no matter how badly it would itch in his legs to just get out there and run. "Hope you're happy you old fart." He mumbled to himself as the australian crossed his mind yet again. Somehow the Scout wanted both to follow his words, simply to please him, but also to go against them, so no matter what he chose he wouldn't feel completely satisfied. But, he figured it was better to stay, and hopefully the medic would have time to help Scout get his arm properly fixed up later so he'd be fit for fight when the next battle came.

Growing restless, Scout got up off the bed and pulled off his red t-shirt - doing so with a bit of difficulty - and threw it onto the nightstand beside the bed. He kicked his shoes off - letting them lie wherever they fell - and undressed until he had nothing but his underwear on, along with the bandages and the dogtags. He never took off his dogtags, ever, he felt naked without them. When finally he was undressed and his floor looked like a mess, the youngster pulled back the covers on his bed to lie down. With a sigh he reached over to the little lamp on the nightstand and switched it off. As the room became dark, he tried to close his eyes and just fall asleep. But he grew incredibly restless instead. He wasn't tired, how was he supposed to sleep? Rolling over on his back the young scout stared up at the cieling through the dark, once more cursing his injured arm for giving him such grief. He hated to let it stop him from doing his job, but soon remembered the australians rather sensitive words. iI don't want to see you die/i..
Scout sighed softly and shook his head a bit. Why it was so important to the sniper that he was alive was beyond him, but if it would only hurt the man to see Scout dead, the youngster would do his best to stay alive. For whatever reason, he didn't want to cause him any pain.
"Don't worry, I wont die before you do, if that's what you want." He mumbled to himself almost as an answer to the worry of his teammate, before he closed his eyes again and tried hard to relax and fall asleep.