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The hazy memories of the previous day filtered back into his mind. Right. 

Upon listening closely, there was no other sound besides his breathing, so Scout wasn’t in the room. A cursory glance around confirmed that. He caught sight of his watch next to the pillow and picked it up. And as he squinted at the watch face and figured out the time through the haze of sleep, the final piece clicked into place.

He was late to work. 

Just then, Scout came into the room. He had slept in just boxers, but now he had a shirt and pajama pants on— most notably not his work uniform. “Oh, mornin’, Snipes! I was just about to wake you up,” he chirped, a smile tugging his lips. His expression immediately fell when he processed the panic on Sniper's face. “Uh, you good? What's up?”

Sniper could've fallen off the ladder down in his haste. “We're late to our jobs is what's up,” he spit, ten steps past panicked.

“Oh shit, yeah. I, uh, forgot to mention that,” Scout said, entirely too casual. “Yeah, apparently at like, one a.m., somethin’ happened. Administrator lady said it was classified, but also said that the battle was cancelled for the day,” he explained, and relief so strong he could’ve actually slipped off washed over Sniper. He sighed. “She announced it around breakfast. I was gonna wake you up once everyone finished eating, but you looked so peaceful, so I let you be. Then it was gettin’ pretty late, so I went to actually wake you up, but I come in here and you're already halfway down the ladder. So, yeah.”

Sniper got down from the ladder before he actually hurt himself, then fixed his hair, trying to look calm. “Couldn’t’ve left a note, or somethin’? So I didn’t have to nearly fall off the bloody stairs in a panic?” he joked, but his tone betrayed him.

“Sorry,” Scout said earnestly, grinning again. “Honestly, I thought you were just gonna sleep the whole mornin’, you were so… I dunno. Never seen you like that.”

Sniper flushed, and ducked his head to hide. “‘S fine.”

The door shut behind Scout as he stepped further into the room. “Uh, anyways. You wanna go, like, grab breakfast or somethin’? I cooked this mornin’, and there's leftover pancakes. My pancakes are pretty decent.”

“You know how to cook?” was Sniper’s non-answer.

“Uh. Uh, yeah,” Scout mumbled. “I’m a grown man, ain’t I?”

“Sorry. Just didn’t peg you as the, er, cooking type.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Scout asked, and the smile was gone. Some actual insecurity was seeping into his tone and expression, so Sniper just decided to drop it.

“Nah, nothing,” he said, “just that you go to diners a lot, mate. Never seen you cook before, either. I’ll come to breakfast.”

Suspicion was still there, but after a second, Scout's expression softened. “You'd know that I can cook if you went to team breakfasts. You wake up early enough to get there on time,” he half-teased. “Y’know, none of us know if you actually eat. For all we know, you skip, like, every meal, except for lunch on the field. Medic’s pissed about it,” he said, walking to the door.

Sniper followed behind, hands in the pockets of the work jeans he forgot to take off. “That wouldn't be… entirely incorrect,” he said carefully.

“How's that?”

“Well…  I don't usually go to eat with you all here ‘cause I, I don't usually eat breakfast. Then all the rest of the time, I just cook for myself.”

“Huh,” Scout said eloquently. “What sort’a things do you usually eat, then?”

“Birds, little animals— just whatever's out there in the forest,” Sniper answered.

“Oh, right. So all the food you eat is the animals you hunt. Cool.”

“...Though, sometimes I sneak into base to grab the stuff I can't get on my own.” Sniper added. “Or I just drive to the nearest town, do groceries there.”

Scout hummed. “Hey, Hardhat usually does groceries for all of us every Saturday, an’ I tag along most of the time. Maybe next time you can come with,” he offered. “I dunno, saves gas, I guess.”

Sniper thought for a moment. “I might, if only ‘cause the drive's easier.” 

That toothy little smile again. “Awesome,” Scout said. “Maybe… maybe we can grab drinks too, if Hardhat lets us wander off alone.”

“Maybe,” Sniper agreed.

There was a moment of silence between them, only broken by footsteps and distant chatter. Seemed like some people were still in the kitchen.

“How'd you learn to cook?” Sniper asked, almost suddenly.

“...What?”

“How'd you learn to cook?” Sniper repeated, knowing that Scout probably heard the first time.

“...Oh. Uh, well. I've told you about how my family was usually busy like, all the time when I was younger, right?” he started, and Sniper nodded. “Well, when they got back, I'd try an’ spend all my time with them, make up for lost time, y'know? And my brothers, they were real jerks when it came to chores, so when it was their turn to cook with Ma, they'd just say “Oh just let J—” He cut himself off abruptly, clearing his throat. Sniper's own tightened. A beat of silence. “They'd just… they'd pass the chore to me, since I loved doin’ it anyway, I guess. I-it was a sorta win-win situation— I'd get to spend time with Ma, they’d skip the chore they all hate. So, cooking. Then I just kept doin’ it, learned a ton of stuff from my Ma.”

“You ought to let me try some of your cooking. Though, I doubt Americans and their seasoning.”

“Hey, my Ma taught me well, alright?”

“Eh…”

“Hey—!”

And they were off to the races, falling into a back-and-forth rhythm of banter, words coming surprisingly easy to Sniper. It only faded once they were closer to the kitchen, where other chatter got louder.

The only people there were Demo, Soldier, and Pyro— the ones Sniper knew to not use their free time working or being alone. He figured Engie, Medic, and Spy were in their respective rooms working on something (or whatever the hell Spy did).

“Oi, lad! Welcome back!” Demo shouted from across the room.

“Hey, Cyclops!” Scout yelled back, a hand cupped around his mouth. He turned back to Sniper, and said quieter, “C’mon, let's get breakfast. I'm hungry too.”

“When are you not?” Sniper joked in reply. A jerk, a distant cough, and the scot was talking again.

“Whot?” he exclaimed, utterly flabbergasted. “Sniper's here? At breakfast?? Is the world ending??”

“Stuff it, Tavish,” Sniper called back at the same time Scout yelled, “Shut up, Demo!” He looked at Sniper for a second.

“Sniper is at breakfast?” Soldier yelled from even further away. 

Some happy mumbles from where Pyro was supposedly getting more pancakes from the table, too.

“Leave him alone, bucket-head! Just ignore them,” Scout whispered bluntly, leaning close to Sniper's ear, “They're assholes.” He moved to the cupboard and grabbed a plate, then to a drawer for a fork. “Uh, cooked some extra eggs for you too, if you wanna get ‘em. Here, dunno how much you eat,” he said, and handed Sniper the plate.

When Sniper was at the table, nodding over at Pyro (who gave an overly excited wave in return), Demo had gone over to Scout and the two were talking. But it was so quiet and he was just far away enough that he could barely understand a word. By the time he finished picking up food, he noticed that Demo was staring. Then Demo realized that he had been caught, and corrected himself with a flinch.

Their conversation abruptly cut off when he walked back over, Pyro trailing behind, and Sniper was sure now that they were talking about him. “Whot's goin’ on, then?” he asked, eyebrows raised, swallowing his mouthful.

“Nothing,” the two said at damn near the same time. And Demo might've wanted to say more, but Scout, quick as ever, cut him off. “See, Demo here was just about to leave, right? ‘Cause we were talkin’ about nothing important, right?” he stressed with a pointed glance at the bomb maker.

“Aye, aye. I'll leave you lot alone,” Demo said, sounding oddly cryptic. “Be in my room, holler if you need me.” 

Sniper took another bite as Demo started walking, Scout still looking a bit pissed. Then, out of nowhere, Demo yelled— “Just practice safe—” before Scout cut him off again.

“Shut up, man!” he yelled back, angry—  and judging by the red on the tip of his ears, maybe a little embarrassed.

Silence for a few seconds.

“What—” Sniper started.

“Just shut up,” Scout muttered weakly.

Another beat, before Sniper just decided to drop it and continue eating. Silence pressed in then— different this time, charged and a little awkward. As always, Scout was the one to break it.

“So is, uh, is breakfast good? I didn't, I dunno, fuck it up or whatever?”

Sniper took a moment to properly consider the food, swirling it around before swallowing. “Reckon you can't really mess up pancakes, mate. Y'did pretty well,” was his response.

“You'd be surprised watchin’ my brother cook,” Scout said, chuckling at the tail-end of the sentence. “Dude almost burnt down the fuckin’ kitchen tryin’ to make oatmeal.” He was smiling in earnest, presumably from remembering that little story.

Sniper hummed. “‘S that another reason why they always gave you that chore?”

“Yeah, those guys can't cook for shit,” Scout laughed back.

Silence, for a few more moments.

“Didn't you say you were hungry?” Sniper finally said.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'll go get some food,” Scout said with a startle, and went to the table.

Sniper took advantage of the fact that scout's back was turned, and his gaze followed the kid's movement. Walking, almost lazily— shoulders squared but relaxed, a crumple at the base of his neck that had him slouching more often than not. A droopiness to the eye currently visible. He looked… in his element, if Sniper had to name it. Like he knew where everything was and how it worked. Like he owned the place. He was at ease— something that was hard to come by in their line of work.

Maybe Sniper was imagining it, but there was a slight sway in Scout's steps, a slight bob to his head. Like music that wasn't there, like friends that stood by him, giving the same silly hop to their step. 

Scout truly, absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, looked at home.

And maybe that made sense. Despite the desolation, the repetition of the job, eight whole people were to have his back, to hang out with, to just be there. And even though a few of them would still prefer to duck into their rooms and do work, still at least three people were free at all times. Not to mention the matching schedules, matching interests, hobbies, and—

The slight rustle of Scout's shifting jostled him out of his thoughts, and just as quickly as the runner turned around, Sniper had another piece of pancake in his mouth.

Scout took his place next to him, apparently having foregone a plate, holding his pancake and taking bites like it was a sandwich. Maybe that was an American thing, or Scout just didn't want to waste another dish.

He glanced at Sniper from the corner of his eye, and only then did Sniper realize that all that time he wasn't just looking— he was staring.

They spent the rest of the time eating in silence.

-

Later that day, Sniper found himself staring at the ceiling in his camper, thinking hard. He had excused himself with chores a little while after he finished eating as, well… admittedly, his social battery was running dry.

Some amount of guilt was eating at his stomach for that in particular. Because he lied— which is a relatively normal thing for Sniper to do, he's a professional— to the one bloody person in the team that actually tried with him. It wasn't easy to do, which soothed him that tiny bit, but it was still shitty of him. 

That last thought circled his head, filling his mind, chaining him to the confines of his bed. He was pretty sure he physically could not peel himself off of the mattress even if he tried.

He could lie to everyone else so easily. It was his job— tracking, finding, and killing someone without leaving a trace usually required an amount of deception. Even to the rest of the blokes on RED, it could very well have been the easiest thing to do. He was sure they'd lie to him too, they were all mercenaries, let alone humans with secrets. It was natural. 

The metal above him had shifted the slightest shade redder.

Of all the lies Sniper had ever made in his life, this was the one affecting him the most. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but it felt wrong. He was pretty sure lying was wrong in the first place, but he had never found it in him to care. Nobody had ever told him “No” often enough. Maybe that was his own fault, what with majority of his life spent alone, but it was strange that he just cared all of a sudden.

The list of chores lying on his table suddenly popped into his mind. Right. It was Chore Day, wasn’t it? He couldn’t remember when the last time he did anything productive outside of work was. Surely it had to have been piling up.

Why couldn’t he get himself to move?

-

Knock, knock-knock.

For a brief moment, Sniper wondered who the hell would visit his camper. That information was supplied fairly quickly, however, and he moved to get the door.

Scout was staring off to the side, hands shoved in his pockets. His head snapped up at the sound of the door, and his eyes promptly lit up. “Hey! You, uh, you busy?” he chirped.

Sniper ducked back into the van for a second before replying. “Just catching up on chores. Why?”

“Well uh, the team's havin’ a bonfire out back,” Scout said, jerking a thumb back to emphasise. “And I figured that's your kinda thing, so… I was gonna ask if you wanted to join us. There's gonna be drinks too, and I'm pretty sure Engie's settin’ up a grill, it'll be great.”

“Uh… sure. Do I need to change, or…” Sniper asked as an afterthought, glancing down at the tank top he was wearing.

“I mean, if you wanna. Some'a them are still in uniform, I think, but most of us are wearing civvie clothes. Hell, I'm wearin’ an old Sox jersey,” he chuckled, looking at his own clothes.

“Awright.” Sniper reached back to grab his keys, then he was hopping down and locking the door. “Who the bloody hell is still wearing their uniform? It's 7:00,” he asked as they started walking.

“Soldier,” Scout said simply. “You know him, he's crazy.”

He was doing this weird thing where one hand was in his pocket, but the other was swinging at his side. “Fair dinkum,” Sniper said, hooking his thumbs in his jeans.

“Oh hey, you ever tried a s’more?” Scout said suddenly, almost like a flinch.

“Er, yeah. Chocolate, marshmallow and digestives, right?”

“You say chocolate weird,” Scout mocked. “Wait, what the fuck are digestives?”

Sniper just stared for a moment. “...You people have your own version of it, don't you?”

“Uh, ‘own version'? It's the original version, man! Jesus H, okay, first thing I do when we get there is make you a true s’more.”

“Do I have to?” Sniper asked, futile as it was.

“Yup!”

-

“Howdy, scooter,” Engie said, getting to work on the grill off to the side, “good to see ya.” Spy was next to him, inspecting the grill with no small amount of judgement. Pyro, among the others near the center, was admiring the fire closely instead of drinking. Everyone else was sitting on logs a good distance further, beer bottles in hand. It seemed all of them showed up.

“Wouldn't miss it for the world!” Scout plopped down on one of the three logs, tapping the spot next to him. The other two were fairly crowded, each holding its own conversation, but the one Sniper sat on only had Soldier sitting at the side. “Right, uh… hey Pyro, toss me one'a those?”

The firebug glanced around a second before chucking the bag of marshmallows next to them. Then they squared up, looking in awe. They reached over and tapped (read as: shook) Engie, who also seemed to be surprised when he looked over. “Huh, hi, Stretch. Didn't think I'd see you here.”

A few more “Sniper's here?” and “Welcome"s were tossed around, the others merely glancing up before returning to their respective conversations. “G'day,” Sniper called back weakly. Meanwhile, Scout was setting to work making s'mores, two sticks hovering over the fire. “Makin’ one for yourself, then?”

Scout chuckled. “No duh, these things are great. Here, hold these,” he said, handing the sticks to Sniper, and stood up. He made the s’mores in basically no time, movements sure and practiced. And soon enough, the older man had a s’more in hand, wrapped in tissue.

“Dig in,” Scout chirped, muffled by his mouthful. 

Sniper inspected it a little before taking a bite. “Whot's the biscuit made of?”

“Hm? Oh, it's just plain ol’ graham crackers.”

“...Whot's that?”

Silence. “You've gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. Y'know what— just have the rest of the plate, dude. I got more in case you wanted another, but like, just eat the damn cracker at this point. Jesus, ‘What's that?’ Goddamn.”

“Er… sorry?” Sniper tried, chuckling a little.

“Nah, don't talk to me,” Scout said, tone so serious that Sniper knew he was kidding. “Don't fuckin’ know what graham crackers are, fuckin’ aussie freak,” he said, rolling his eyes. The corner of his mouth was starting to tick up.

“Blame the bloody country for not having these, not me,” Sniper shot back, also deadpan. “Never said it was bad, besides. Bloody slander.”

“Australia's fuckin’ weird. Super weird, freaky, uh, backwards country. Continent?”

“Technically both.”

“That's also weird. You're weird.” They were both smiling in earnest now, but neither pointed it out.

“So offended, mate.”

“Yeah, you better be,” Scout muttered, resting his head on his hand in a pout. Then, his eyes widened, breaking into a deadsprint to stop Pyro from dropping the newfound lighter fluid into the fire yelling, “YO, WAIT—!”

Sniper watched him all but rip the container from gloved hands, eating a bit. The runner gave a little lecture to the firebug and passed the lighter fluid to Engie, who was muttering something Sniper couldn't hear, scratching his head.

Scout was right. The graham crackers were nice.

He was left sitting there, awkwardly watching as Scout animatedly talked to the truckie, all while Pyro was pouting on the floor. The yelp had gathered the attention of some of the others, who were either listening in on the conversation or talking to the pyromaniac. And there it was. The pit in his gut that formed back in the kitchen that day. 

Because Scout, once again, looked so very in his element.

He was smiling, and laughing, and just having fun like he had nowhere to be. Sniper didn't know how to explain it, but he… he wasn't jealous. It was more a subtle fascination of the way Scout fell into a rhythm of conversation so easily. Of the calmness in his posture. Of, well… him.

He didn't know how to feel about that.

-

Knock, knock-knock.

Scout's sudden visit had shaken Sniper out of his thoughts. He realized then that he was basically staring off into nothing, holding one of his hobbies, motionless. He stood up.

Scout was leaning on the camper wall this time. Gaze still off to the side, but otherwise a different pose. More laid back, in a sense. He still lit up when the door opened, though. “Hey! Uh, Hardhat's settin’ up his truck in the garage, you comin’ with?”

Silence, for a full ten seconds, Sniper wracking his brain for whatever the hell Scout was talking about. “...It's Saturday," he said slowly, a confirmation and realization in one.

“...It's Saturday,” Scout agreed, just as slowly.

“...Oh,” he said unhelpfully after another second.

Scout just looked. “So, uh, you comin’?”

At that moment, he was split. The part that wanted to go was being desparately shoved into the back of his mind by the part that didn't, screaming and clawing to no avail. And the longer he stayed silent, the longer he stared, he realized something. That there was something behind Scout's eyes, something longing, something he couldn't recognise. 

And despite it all…

“...Not today, mate. Sorry.”

Scout's grin faltered just a little. “Yeah, uh. Nah, you're good. Maybe, some other day.”

Silence, for a moment.

He took a few blind steps back, approximating where the garage was. “Uh, see ya,” Scout called, turning around.