Hi guys, this actually my first fanfic.. EVAH. Dun dun. Let me know what you think and if I should do more? Or to leave the realms of the fanfiction world WELL alone? Lol.

Note:: Some changes to the way the game is played have been altered slightly.

I'm also perfectly English, christ knows how a Boston accent properly goes, but I hope I've done it justice.

Rated 'M' for a reason, ye have been warned.

"YOU FAILED."

The announcers voice thundered in his headphones at a brutal volume, the dreaded two words that every team member recoiled at the sound of. His pistol made a dull snapping sound, and he knew it had been automatically disabled, along with the rest of his weaponry. Fortunately for the Blue Scout, he had found himself distanced from the frenzied blood-bath that was now occurring on ground level as the Red Team sought out his fellow survivors. Not intentionally, of course, it wasn't like him to go into hiding until after all hope was lost, but here he was on the top level of the barracks and not a person in sight. He threw the pistol to the ground angrily and pressed himself into the corner of the room, watching the staircase anxiously, preparing himself for when a Red member would come up in search of vengeful relief.

Footsteps. His spine tingled with bottled-up energy. His fighting spirit was still aflame, and he readied his pitiful fists for combat.

A barmah hat appeared, followed by the rest of the Red Sniper.

Scout made sure the man had noticed him before making his presence undeniable, "yeah, come on then! Fuckin' asshole!" He bellowed, seeing the blade readied in the Snipers hand.

The Sniper observed for a moment, the boy almost bouncing from one foot to the other, bound fists clenched and readied. The knife hung loosely in his grip- it was embarrassingly easy. He had never been one to get excited over the bloodied hysteria at the end of each successful match, par from the occasional headshot when opportunity came at a distance. A quick death, perhaps a little more dignified than if a Pyro had got to them first.

"Jus' do it, already!" Scout spat, the suspense almost as painful as what the blade was going to bring to him.

Sniper snorted, a slight smirk cracking across his face, before he idly thrust the knife back into its sheath. There was a few more minutes left before the match was to be called off completely and his weapons would too be locked and unusable, the remaining Blue survivors would then have the opportunity to retreat back to camp. A Scout wasn't worth much, certainly no trophy hostage to bring back to base. Sniper threw his hand casually towards the Scout, "you're alright, mate." And turned his back to the boy, cascading back down the stairs and headed to camp.

Scout stood frozen on the spot, hands still readied in front of him. A look of perplexity wiped across his face. 'What the fuck was that?' He frowned to himself. The departing footsteps disappeared into the din of gunshots and shouting and he was once again alone in the room. Had he just been saved? Or had the Sniper considered him 'not worth the effort?' His frown deepened as a shot of fury spread across him.

"Jesus fuckin' christ…" he mumbled, lowering his fists and releasing them.

Outside, everything was quietening as the killing spree ended, and a sudden spiteful voice bellowed into his ears, "RETURN TO BASE."

It wasn't often Scout had survived long enough to hear those words. But by no means was it a relief to hear them. Feeling defeated, he made his way back across the barren battlefield. No team members in sight.

3 days passed before the next battle was announced. It was afternoon, but the sun was still searing in the sky; he couldn't feel it though, the base was cool and shielded. The game was King of the Hill, one of Scout's more dreaded missions, but nonetheless he was raring to go like a greyhound in its trap.

"MISSION BEGINS IN 60 SECONDS"

"Do try to keel more zan one enemy at a time today, mon cher," the slick voice said next him, teasingly.

Scout glanced up to be sure the insult had been aimed at him, before releasing his retaliation.

"Oh, this comin' from the douchebag who don't even got the balls to show his face when he knifes a guy in the back?" He sized himself up against the Spy, which was futile, really, as he was considerably shorter.

"On ze contrary, at least I can keel a man without 'aving to fire every bullet in ze process," came the swift response between inhalations of cigarette smoke, less playful now.

"You got some fuckin' nerve-"

"Children!" Came the Medic's voice, "try not to destroy each o'zer before the match haz even begun."

"FIVE, FOUR, THREE…"

The gates were opened with a thunderous clang and the team launched into action. Scout, of course, up front- making sure to shove into the Spy on the way past. An explosion of noise surrounded him as he ran, and moments later he was engulfed in the chaos of battle.

Chunks of concrete kicked-up around him as bullets hammered around his feet. Scout dove behind a wall and checked his ammo- shit, barely a handful of bullets left in his pistol and his scattergun was completely dry. He had foolishly made a point of not returning to base to resupply for the sake of proving himself to the Spy, but since starting hadn't come across an ammo pickup once. There was barely enough time to curse himself before a Red Demoman appeared and began launching grenades in his direction. Scout leapt into action and fired what was left in defence, before resorting to his bat. Infuriated, he made a swing at the Red team member, and struck the wooden stick hard across the Demoman's shoulder. The man shouted in pain, and Scout took the opportunity to bludgeon another swing at the head- but it was caught. With incredible force that gave Scout chills, the Demoman gripped the end of the baseball bat and threw it to the floor- before raising his grenade launcher directly in Scout's face. The trigger was pulled and almost immediately Scout ran, narrowly missing as a bomb flew past his head. Running like a madman, he HAD to find ammo.

Bullet's zipped past his ears and debris scattered everywhere as he bolted flat-out across the battlefield in search of a small wooden box. He passed several Red members on his way, who all barely had time to recognise Scout's colour before he was gone again. Before long he was well and truly in the realms of the Red base.

A slim ladder was spotted to the far left, leading discretely into a much higher compartment structure. Scout seized the opportunity- there must be ammo up there, it was so fucking secluded- and made a dash to the ladder. He climbed as fast as he could manage; the bullet's had stopped hammering around him, he was so far from the centre that he was sure nobody could see him. He reached the upper level and sure enough, no ammo pickups. But there was another ladder leading even higher, and Scout- exasperated- climbed that one too. This one lead to a trapdoor, and there was a moments hesitation before he gently lifted it.

He had barely peeked out of the opening when he was staring directly into the barrel of a rifle.

"Whoa, hey, wait!" Scout hollered, as a large boot kicked open the trapdoor from above. "No, see look! I'm not armed! Don't…" He thrust his bandaged hands into the air, almost falling from the ladder as he did so.

It took a few moments, but Scout realised that the rifle belonged to the same Red Sniper as from the previous battle.

"Come on, man, I was just looking for ammo…" he continued, his body completely stiff in preparation for the bullet to be fired.

The rifle was slowly raised and the Sniper drew it back completely, donning a melee knife instead. "You're the kid from before," the Sniper observed, holding the blade out as Scout climbed the rest of the way into the small room.

The room was much like a cows-nest, compact and wooden with a tin roof. A single, thin window had been made in the wall. All around the edges of the room were boxes of aid and other insignificant objects.

"Yeah," Scout responded, anxiously climbing to his feet and closing the trapdoor before he could see himself being thrown back down it. There was a long, almost awkward pause. The blade was still raised but not in an overly offensive fashion, just held there, threateningly. The silence was broken as a bullet flew through the window and resounded off an empty mug that shattered across the floor. The Red Sniper broke into action and scrambled hurriedly onto the floor next to the opening, lifting his rifle to his face.

"Sit the fuck down," he shouted, throwing a stern look to Scout before aligning his eye up to the telescope and going completely still.

Somewhat taken-back by the order, Scout fell into a squat almost automatically, surprising himself with his obedience. The Sniper shot from his rifle, and a loud cracking explosion filled the small wooden room- he reloaded almost as fast as the bullet had emptied the barrel and shot another. He must've hit his target because the Sniper relaxed and leaned back slightly, lowering his rifle and looking at Scout through yellow-tinted aviators.

Entirely lost in the situation, Scout had to remind himself whose base he was in. "We're losing, aint we?" He said, more of a statement than a question.

"Not half," The Sniper exhaled with a hint of a smirk, looking back out the window, "s'far as I'm aware the score is 8-1 to us."

"Well shit…"

"Got that right, boyo."

Another silence. They were becoming increasingly painful as lack of conversation left to plenty of opportunity to make the kill.

"Mind if… y'know… I wade out the last part up 'ere?" Scout realised he was allowing himself to trust the other team member far too much. One act of 'kindness' was no reason to believe that the man was a saint. But it had been the only words he could think of saying at that moment.

Sniper leaned back into position at the window, turning away from Scout and raising the rifle back to his sunglasses. "If you like," he said, "but no bloody earbashin' or funny shit."

Scout took a moment to ponder what was meant by 'earbashin'. Or implied by 'funny shit', for that matter.

"Whatever…" He sat himself down on a crate behind the Sniper.

Another explosion erupted from the rifle and Scout wondered what the fuck he was doing. He was sitting and watching as the man in front picked off his team members like fish in a barrel. He could easily make a move- grab that screwdriver by his feet, thrust it into the Sniper's back. It wouldn't kill but then perhaps he could make a move for the machete attached to his belt- the Sniper surely wouldn't have time to react.

"Um.. hey, thanks for the other day, y'know?" Scout piped up, breaking the 'rules', so to speak, in just minutes of them being informed. He glared down at his own feet sheepishly.

"Don't thank me," Sniper responded with a chuckle, "you jus' looked so bloody pathetic standing there I couldn't bring myself to do it."

Gratuity was replaced with rage and Scout scowled, lifting one foot and kicking it into the Sniper's back, "fuckin' asstard" He growled.

Almost as soon as his shoe made contact with the man in front of him did the rifle swing round and steady directly at the boy's face.

"That kind of shit's what's gonna make me put a bullet directly between yer eyes," Sniper leered, evidently not as sporting of Scout's larking as his own teammates- which was to be fairly expected.

"Alright, alright," He defended, raising his hands again and ducking away from the eye of the barrel.

"Jus' bleedin' aggro…" the sniper mumbled, barely audibly, as he turned back on his perch to face the window once more.

Silence continued throughout for a good 20 minutes, broken only occasionally by the cracking of the rifle. Horrendous at sitting still, Scout repositioned a number of times. Picking objects up and fiddling with them, before throwing them aside leisurely whilst continuously sighing and groaning. He wondered whether it would be worth making a bolt for the trap door. Although, in all fairness, that decision would only land him in more trouble when he reached the ground floor again; ammo-less. The sniper hardly moved, except sometimes to glance back to check on the boy.

'Hostage'-situation or not, Scout couldn't bare the inactivity any longer.

"Hey, gimme a go widda' rifle," he suggested, leaning forwards expectedly, the absurdity of the request lost on him.

Sniper slowly turned to look at him with an almost comical fluidity, an eyebrow cocked as if to say 'you must be joking'. However, he wasn't dismissing the demand, and seemed to even be pondering it. He breathed out a slight laugh before turning his body entirely to face Scout. "Alright then." He extended his arm testingly and handed Scout the heavy weapon.

Scout marvelled at the naivety of the man's decision, little did he know that Sniper was fully confident in the fact that the Scout would be too inept with the rifle to be deemed even the remotest bit threatening.

He took the gun into his arms and almost bounced to his feet, rotating and turning it in his grip to get a good look, all while smiling broadly.

"Yeah but get low," Sniper hissed, shifting off his seat to let the boy take his place. He removed the submachine gun from pocket and placed it by his knee, just to be safe.

"Oh man, our Sniper's never let me hold his rifle before," Scout said gleefully, perching himself on the box by the window. The seat was still incredibly warm. He dramatically leaned forwards until he was almost falling off the front of the crate, holding the scope up to his eye as he peered out onto the battlefield below.

Sniper shifted until he was directly behind Scout, "the stock should be in the pocket of your shoulder," he directed, placing a hand on Scout's right arm and adjusting it until he deemed it satisfactory. "And your cheek should be here…" he added, using one hand to direct Scout's head and the other, the gun, into position.

"Yeah whatever, man, I got this," Scout nudged the hands off him, and pretty much reverted back to the positioning he had started with.

"See if ya' can hit that busted sentry over there," Sniper said, pointing in a particular direction.

"What sentry?" Scout replied impassively, not taking his eyes away, and fired randomly after a Red member, missing so badly he might as well have been firing squarely at the wall. The recoil of the scope rammed into his face.

"Fuck!" Scout yelped, holding a hand to his eye and pushing the rifle away like it were a dangerous animal.

Sniper laughed cruelly, leaning back on his haunches to allow Scout to slip off the crate and retreat back to the wall in pain. It was almost immediately that a scattering of bullets pelted the wooden room- dust and wood fragments flying everywhere. He snatched up the rifle once more and started firing out of the window.

"I think you just gave my fuckin' position away," he growled, firing some more. "Stand on that trapdoor, would ja'?"

Scout paused, the bullets being fired at the building had ceased now.

"Naw see, was your dumb decision to give me the gun, ya'know. You deal with it," he grinned, leaning back against the wall, hands folded behind his head, a rather ridiculous red ring around his right eye.

"Get'yer bloody arse on that door, NOW."

The machete was out again, and that was all the convincing Scout needed to budge. He stood squarely on the door, wondering what would happen if the Heavy were to come crashing through it- would he go flying out the roof?

Twilight fell and the battle was still going. There hadn't been any more attempts to use the rifle, nor attacks on the crows-nest. Scout sat leisurely on the door, legs crossed and playing with his mic. Sniper hadn't shifted once. A bitter cold crept over the land and he realised just how chilly it got when he wasn't running around like a man on fire. After all, he was dressed in a T-shirt. He curled into a ball and held his knees close to his chin. Sniper glanced over.

"C'mere," he said idly, motioning his head.

Scout gave him a wary glare, and crouching, cautiously made his way to where the Sniper sat.

With one hand continuously holding the rifle, the Sniper awkwardly removed his jacket.

"Hey man, I think I'm fine, it's alri-"

"Just put it on."

The jacket was thrust into Scout's chest and he held it out in front of him to get a better look at it. It was worn and damaged, and the material soft with age.

"What you gonna do next, lie it on a puddle for me to step over?" Scout grinned, threading his arms through and burying his hands into the pockets. The jacket was sleeveless but it certainly made a difference. It smelt strongly of cigarettes and gunpowder.

A gentle kick into Scout's leg was all it took to shut him up.

He didn't return to the door, Scout just sat there at Snipers feet, not even able to see out of the tiny gap/window. It was warmer, pressed against the man's leg. He suddenly realised the machete was literally next to his ear. Tantalisingly close. All he needed was to make a grab for it and then that'd be it, over. A sniper's rifle was deadly but had no chance in such close proximities. His hands shook, and he tried to keep his cool. Was he really about to do this? After all, the man had been needlessly kind to him. But what was to happen when the match was over? Would he free him again? Perhaps killing the Sniper would be saving his own skin. The boy was almost vibrating with nerves. He could do it, it would take just seconds.

It seemed the decision couldn't wait any longer.

The celestial voice of the announcer came rattling through the speaker in the top corner of the room.

"MISSION ENDS IN 60 SECONDS."

His body seized up and almost without thinking he made a grab for the blade. He unsheathed it with incredible ease and leapt to his feet in time for the Sniper to respond. But he didn't. He just turned to look at Scout, hardly moving at all, his eyebrow arched sarcastically when he saw the knife shaking in Scout's hand.

The machete was heavy in his grip as he stood poised behind Sniper. It was deadly sharp, one strike was all it needed really.

"Don't be stupid," Sniper stated, monotonously.

"You sound just like the fuckin' Spy."

"MISSION ENDS IN 30 SECONDS."

Sniper looked away from the boy and lifted his sunglasses up onto the rim of his hat with a weary demeanour. The rifle slid from his grip and he left it resting on the window's ledge as he slowly and achingly got to his feet.

Scout was still shaking, half from the cold, half from the nerves. He took the blade into both hands, holding it out in front of him as he watched the Sniper rise and face him. The man took a step towards him, and Scout took a step back. It was almost as if Scout wasn't holding a huge fucking blade, and this pissed him off.

"MISSION ENDS IN 10 SECONDS."

Another step forwards, and another back. Scout soon found his back was pressed against the far wall, almost stumbling on the crap lying about on the floor as he tried to keep his focus on the Sniper. The man got closer and closer, the darkness of the fading light was making it increasingly hard to see his face. A hand settled on his own, and gently pushed the knife away.

"Don't fuckin-" Scout started, but was interrupted.

Their mouths connected, and Scout felt a firm hand holding his shoulder against the wall. The kiss was solid and aggressive, and he found himself struggling to breath as he tried to keep up with the movement of the intruding tongue. He let out a weak groan as Sniper's other hand pushed his cap back and ground their bodies together.

"5, 4…"

He let his eyes close as he abandoned himself to the onslaught, his own hand resting on the man's abdomen.

"3, 2, 1…"

It was only then that he realised the knife had been already removed from his clasp, and he felt the stinging blade being pressed just under his jaw. The kiss stopped and Sniper inched back slightly, a sliver of light was able to enter the room, reflecting menacingly against in the corner of the Sniper's eyes and contouring his face with a diluted, blue tint. A malicious smirk broke across his face.

"VICTORY."