I'm active again, at least for now! Was feeling better recently, so i got back to writing :]
Enjoy!

"Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"

I cracked one eyelid open lazily. The clock in the room read ten past five in the morning; still too early to get up. Yet for some reason the Scout was jumping up and down beside our beds and repeating the same thing every time he reached my level. I yawned and shuffled down back underneath my covers.

"It's too early Scout," I moaned, pulling the sheets over my head. "Go back to sleep."

"But your luggage got here!"

Well, that got my attention. "It is?" I asked, poking my face out again. I was slightly taken aback when I found myself staring straight into his eyes through the safety bars of the bunk. And then suddenly, they were gone. He had hopped into mid-air at just the right moment to catch me coming out. I waited until he'd levelled with me again, and swiftly extended my finger and poked him on the nose. His eyes widened in shock, and quickly turned to glee.

"Yupp. A train stopped here like five minutes ago and they dropped your stuff off on the platform," he said, motioning to the window with his thumb. "Can't believe you slept through that; that thing's like freakin dynamite."

I shrugged as best as I could in the position I was in. "I'm a deep sleeper," I admitted, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "They just dropped them off?" I asked.

"Uhh, they kinda tossed them out actually," he said.

"How nice of them," I remarked, pushing the sheets off me and sitting up. "Best go get them I suppose." I got up reluctantly. With the window open, there was a slight chill in the room that contrasted unpleasantly with my bed-warmth.

"Yeh, it looks like rain's comin," he said.

Eventually, the whole thing turned out to be a mad dash for the suitcases in the rain. Neither of us had really bothered to put on anything on top of the clothes we'd been wearing to bed, not even shoes. In my case, I'd been wearing a soft pair of the Scout's shorts and an old t shirt of his, but the boy was clad only in his boxer shorts and dog tags. He was shivering by the time we managed to drag my stuff into the shelter of the base. Because obviously, the skies had chosen that exact moment to unleash an ungodly downpour. And even though I was wearing more clothes than he was, Scout was not the only one shaking from the chill.

"You're gonna catch a cold sweetcheeks," he chuckled and dropped the small suitcase he'd been carrying at my feet in the base's foyer. "Talk about a wake-up call eh?" He was stretching his arms up as he spoke, pushing his chest forward and arching his back. All too suddenly, I was aware of how attractive the Scout's bare body was, and more importantly, that I was staring intently at it. There was a certain mesmerizing beauty in the way his muscles contorted as he stretched, somehow enhanced by the glistening raindrops. I pulled my eyes away when I started to notice the pattern of veins beneath his tensed skin.

"Hey A!" he called when I'd looked away. I turned my head, and was met by a spray of water square in the face. The Scout was laughing as he vigorously shook his head like a dog, sending water droplets flying everywhere. He enhanced the effect by rapidly running his fingers through his locks.

"Scout!" I squeaked, stumbling back to escape the spray. I stumbled over the suitcases and would have fallen flat on my arse if he hadn't grabbed my wrist at just the right moment to stop me. He pulled me closer and used his advantage to deposit the last of the moisture in his hair onto me.

"Too slow," he said with a grin. He grabbed my other wrist and held both my hands up before my face between us. "My dog used to do that when I was a kid."

"You have a dog?" I asked.

"Had. He got run over when I was ten."

"Ouch. Sorry," I said. I'd never been allowed pets, not even when I was little, so I didn't really know what it would be like to lose one. But I imagined it wouldn't be all that pleasant.

"Don't worry, he was a goofy thing anyway. One of my bros found him sleeping in a dumpster round our block. He had a flat ear and a funny eye, but he was a cute puppy and I wouldn't let my Ma send him to the pound. So she told me I could keep it if I looked after it. I called him Rusty. Then this one time my brother, Tristan, he kinda forgot to lock the gate. That big lump of fur never stood a chance 'gainst that garbage truck."

"Poor doggy."

"Poor Tristan," he corrected me. "I got so angry I knocked a tooth outta his mouth with his baseball bat. Then he gave me a black eye."

I automatically winced when he pointed at his right eye. It looked perfectly normal of course, but I knew more than anyone the sting that accompanied such an injury. "How many brothers do you have?" I asked him, trying to change the subject.

"Seven."

"SEVEN?!" I repeated. He smirked at my reaction. "Damn, your mum was a busy woman."

"Yeh she was," he laughed. "There's Conner, Riley and Shawn," he said, listing the names. For every one he said, he tapped my wrists together in front of our faces. "Dillon, Brian, Cooper and Tristan. I'm the youngest," he told me, as if he knew I was about to ask.

"The runt, huh?" I teased.

He parted my arms and pushed his face through with a wide grin. "I still bite," he warned playfully.

"I don't doubt it," I replied with a smile of my own.

"What in the name of god are you two mongrels doin?"

We jumped apart at the first syllable of the Sniper's unexpected voice. We'd been so caught up in our conversation we didn't even hear the man approaching us. Though to be fair, he'd have had to employ quite some skill at creeping to go completely undetected by not one, but two people in an otherwise empty foyer. Either that or I was more infatuated with the Scout than I'd realised.

"Mornin' Snipes," the Scout grinned, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just bringin in A's luggage's all," he explained.

"In yer pants?" the Australian asked sceptically, eyeing us both. "Don't seem like the weather for it, does it?"

"It was short notice," I said in a low voice. I was determinately averting my eyes away from the Sniper. He too, like the Scout, was not wearing a shirt. Though he was, mercifully, wearing trousers. Even though the shirtless Sniper was not in the least unpleasant to look at, I preferred to look elsewhere or else risk blushing once more. But what else is new?

"Hey, I thought you were sleepin in your van," Scout remarked, bending down to pick up one of my suitcases again.

In my peripheral vision, I saw the man shrug. If my eyes and nose weren't mistaken, he was carrying a mug of coffee in his right hand. As if to confirm, I heard the sound of the liquid sloshing inside the mug as he lifted it to take a sip before answering. "Knew there was a storm comin boy. Didn't fancy bein out in it all night if it hit too early." A crack of thunder sounded in the distance to support his statement.

"How did you know a storm was coming?" I asked, staring at his boots.

"Bushman's instincts love," he chuckled.

"Uh-huh," the Scout said in a sing-song voice. "Sure Snipes."

"Laugh all you want boy; don't expect a city-boy like you to know the great outdoors."

"Hey I've been campin with my bros before alright?" he retaliated smugly. "Can start a fire and everything."

"Yes, you told us about your 'camping trip'," the Sniper sniggered. "You spent one night under a sheet in your backyard to see the fourth of July fireworks. That aint campin mate. That's something kids do when they're bored."

I only just managed to keep myself under control. I'd been so close to snorting with laughter at the Sniper's comment. It seemed so much like the Scout, to do that sort of thing. In my head, I got an image of a younger scout cramped with six other boys under a tattered sheet to see the night sky come alive with colour and lights.

The Scout coughed awkwardly. "Told you never to mention that again man," he growled.

"No, if I remember well, you told me never to mention that you got scared by the loud noises and ran inside crying for your mama."

I lost it at that and laughed heartily until there were tears streaming down my cheeks. The look on Scout's face was priceless as he turned first pink, then a deep crimson. If it was from embarrassment or anger, I wasn't sure, but I suspected it was some hybrid of both.

"They lit a firecracker in the freakin tent!" he said quickly, trying to explain himself. "Right in the tent, BEHIND me!" he yelped.

"Did your shorts catch fire?" I managed to ask in between the gasps of laughter.

"Yes!" he yelled immediately. Then, two seconds later when he saw the expression on my face, he regretted speaking at all. "I meant no!"

"Sure you did lad," Sniper chuckled. "Sure you did."

"Jeez, you're such a freakin ass," he mumbled to the taller man, bending down to pick up my other suitcase before walking away.

I was still laughing silently when I began to hear the commotion from the upper floors as our other team members arose from their slumber.

"You best get going girl," the Sniper urged me after a sip of coffee. "Captain America's probably gonna be down here looking for you soon and he'll complain like there's no tomorrow if you're not here on time." He finished his sentence by kicking the haversack that constituted as the last piece of my luggage towards me.

"Wait," I said, "We're still doing training today?" I looked back out the door as another crack of thunder rolled above us.

"Of course," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Builds up better resistance to the elements that does," he assured me. "And this way you'll have sharper aim in clear weather."

"I'm not quite sure you heard me well the other day, but I have shit aim in best conditions," I reminded him as I lifted the bag onto my damp back. "If I try aiming for the targets today, I'll probably hit Spy wherever he is right now skinning helpless bunnies."

"Oh I wouldn't do that Sheila, or the spook just might skin you," he warned in a semi-serious tone.

"He sounds more like a charmer each day," I murmured, more to myself than the Sniper. I sighed and shook the hair out of my eyes. "I'll see you later I suppose," I said to him in a more audible voice.

"Don't forget the slingshot," he reminded me.

"I won't."

I forgot the slingshot.

I trudged back up to my room, raincoat already dripping wet from all the water to find a bemused Scout lounging on my bunk with the weapon balancing on his chin. "Forgot something?" he mused.

"Shut up," I shushed him with a childish pout as I snatched the thing from his grasp.

"Aww," he joked, "You hurt my feelings doll."

"Serves you right for not reminding me to take it, tosspot," I said, sticking out my tongue at him.

He faked a joked sob. "Fine, be that way, cruel heartbreaker. I'll just be sitting here." I turned round to go back downstairs. "Inside." I made for the door. "In the warm." I crouched to pick up a rouge baseball. "All dry." I tossed. "Ouch!" And this time, I hit my target.

"See you later, sweety," I laughed in his wake of mild mixture of curses and chuckles.

Sniper was waiting for me downstairs in a rain-jacket of his own. "You forgot the slingshot didn't you."

"No," I said. He raised his eyebrow. "Okay yes."

He looked me up and down as soon as I was close enough. "Crikey girl, were you running or swimming? You look like you've been through a dishwasher cycle," he remarked, holding the door open for me.

"The star-spangled man made me run through the trenches. Out of all days, he made me go into the trenches today. I was up to my chest in muck half the time, and the other half I was being pelted by raindrops the size of my fist," I told him, pulling up the hood of my jacket. Not that it made much of a difference anyway; I was soaked right through to the bone. Even my underwear, my own this time, was damp and clammy. "I didn't even have time to shower because it took me longer than usual to finish the circuit. And all the while the bugger just sat there under a frilly umbrella."

"Not the one with the pink roses on it," the Sniper gasped.

"The very one," I confirmed. "It had lace and everything."

The Sniper shook his head in amusement. "You would not believe how many times we tried getting rid of that monstrosity. It keeps comin back each time, like it knows or something."

"Why does he have a pink frilly umbrella anyway?" I asked the Australian as I followed him out the door. "Seems a bit at odds with his behaviour."

The man shrugged. "Not a clue. I think he mentioned once that someone gave it to him. His mom I think. Something like that."

"Oh," I said. I couldn't really afford to say much else at that point, because the sky was pelting me with enormous raindrops. The downpour had increased drastically during the time it took me to get in and retrieve my slingshot. I could barely see five meters ahead of me; I couldn't begin to imagine how I was going to hit targets. I risked opening my mouth to ask the Sniper just that.

"Sight's not your only sense Sheila," he said, seemingly untroubled by the rain. "You can hear the enemy if you listen hard enough. Sometimes you can smell 'em too. If you're unlucky you can feel them at your back, but by then it's too late."

I didn't say anything until we stopped beside the base of a long, long ladder. "Up there?" I gulped, looking up at the height the ladder ascended to.

"Yup. Best place to snipe's from a nest," he told me, pushing me gently towards the rungs. "Up you go."

I hesitated nervously. "But I'll slip and fall." Even as the words left my mouth, I knew how pathetic they sounded. God damn it, I scolded myself. But I couldn't help it and I knew it. I had known far too much pain in my young eighteen years to not be wary of any that might be unnecessary. Which I knew very well to be a cliché, considering I was in a warzone.

"Hold on tight and you won't," he assured me. "Just make sure you're steady before climbing the next rung."

I nodded wordlessly. With trembling fingers, I reached for the ladder. My boots found the first rung and before I could think about it again, I climbed. It seemed never to end, but before I knew it my hands landed on wide, flat wooden boards. I'd reached the nest. I was especially careful while pulling myself onto the small platform. The rain had made the wood slippery, and I held on to the railings with killer grip until the Sniper climbed beside me and opened the door to the inside. "See?" he said, "That wasn't so hard."

"Uh-huh," I said, breathlessly. I could feel my heart beating from the adrenalin and fear. "Wait, how am I going to get back down?"

"Same way you got up," he replied with humour in his voice.

"Are you always such a comedian or are you trying especially hard because you have a new audience?" I teased lightly.

"I'm not much of a funnyman actually," he admitted, closing the door behind us. "Never saw much humour in my line of work."

"You blow heads off shoulders in a wake of red mist and snapping bones," I told him, picking up a discoloured empty jar. "What's not to laugh at?"

"Um," the Sniper hesitated, staring at my hands. "You might want to put that down."

I raised one eyebrow in confusion and turned to look at the jar again. Odd, I thought. The glass seemed a queer shade of sickly yellow. Then, it dawned. Oh. "Oh." I put the jar back where I found it. "I'm just going to pretend it held pickle juice."

"You do that," he said with difficulty as he fought to suppress laughs. "If you're done poking around, maybe we can get started and get it over with. I don't like the looks of them clouds out there."

"Sure," I said, crouching down. I had given my slingshot to the Sniper and in turn, he'd put it in the haversack on his back. I dug it out now with a pouch of ball bearings made out of some dense metal. "Are these mine?" I asked, holding out the pouch.

"Yeah, they arrived with some other stuff of mine. They don't match any of my weapons, so they're probably yours."

"What do they do?" I asked, pinching one between my thumb and index finger.

"Erupt in shrapnel apparently," he replied. "Don't squeeze them too hard, by the way."

I dropped the ball back into the pouch so fast I barely even knew I'd done it. "Thanks for the forewarning mate," I said sarcastically.

"Any time Sheila." I walked over to where he was sitting before an open window. He pointed to something in the rain. "You see that red cut-out down by the shed?"

I forced my eyes to ignore the droplets interfering with my vision and focused my sights in the general direction he was indicating. At first, I couldn't see anything amidst the curtain of falling water. But then, after my eyes adjusted, I just about made out the form of Heavy, only he was dressed I red.

"The Heavy yeah?" I confirmed, narrowing my eyes to get a sharper view. "Yeah I see him."

"Good," Sniper nodded. "Now hit him."

"Come again?" I asked, looking at him in alarm. I'd expected him to at least show me how to aim with the damned weapon.

"Load. Draw. Loose," he said. "Simple."

"Um, okay," I said tentatively. I regrabbed one of the bearings from the pouch and put it at rest against the leather pad. I put the actual weapon in my right hand first, then thought better of it and transferred it to my left. I would be aiming with my right hand, and better to do that with my good hand rather than my weaker one. I positioned my hand just above the window sill, drew the rubber back as far as it would go, had a shot at aiming, and loosened.

The ball bearing erupted several metres to the left of the Russian cut-out, without so much as one single shard of shrapnel touching the thing at all.

"Well you're not horrible," the Sniper said, peering out to see the damage.

"I didn't even hit it," I told him.

"It's your first try, in the rain, with an incorrect stance," he said. "Stand sideways," he told me, getting up behind me. "Don't face your target, it limits your drawing arm and makes it harder to aim." He grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me side face. "Alright, show me again," he said.

I was temporarily frozen, and it took me time to react. I was still undergoing recovery from the sudden shock to my senses that came from the Sniper's unexpected manhandling. He hadn't done it roughly, or with intention to demean, but I still disliked the experience. The last time somebody had grabbed me by the shoulders I'd had my face slammed into a cabinet for getting home late. It wasn't the sort of thing one forgets easily, and I was no exception.

"Kid? You alright?" The Sniper's voice bore through my ringing ears as I recalled the sour memory, dragging me back to the present.

I shook myself back into my senses. "Y-yes," I stuttered, shaking my shoulders loose as if to erase the shadow of every pair of hands that ever landed on them. "I'm okay."

"Alright," he replied in a controlled voice that somehow told me he was not convinced. "Whenever you're ready, then."

I gave an inwards sigh of relief that he had not pressed the subject and did as he'd asked. I aimed, drew, and loosed another ball bearing into the rain. I lost sight of it for a split second, then found it again just before it exploded into tiny shards of metal, just a few feet from the Heavy. This time, a lot of the pieces found their target, and the shrapnel made an audible metallic screech as they embedded themselves into the cut-out. Maybe it wouldn't have taken off his foot, but the Heavy would have been seriously impaired in his left leg if the hit had been real.

"There you go," Sniper grinned. "Much better."

"Thank you," I said, relieved that I'd not made a farce of myself again.

"One more time," he said, "And this time, relax your shoulders; don't hold tension in them while you aim. Just locate the target, draw and loose. Don't try to keep the rubber stretched while you aim or your hit will be sloppy. Aim with your eyes and the ball will follow."

I noticed his instructions came without physical adjustment this time. So he'd noticed, then. In fact, rather than place me into position, he reached for the bow strung around his torso and an arrow from his quiver. "Watch me," he said, as he notched. The arrow was fletched with white goose feathers and made of a dark, oaky wood. "Just aim," he said as he drew, "And loose." The arrow cut through air and water with a sharp whoosh, landing with a vibrating thwang as it buried itself into the target's head. "Your turn," he said.

I tried as he'd showed me and succeeded in landing the bearing on the Heavy's right knee. That hit would have blasted his kneecap right off, I was sure.

"Try and go for the head," he suggested. "A shot like that's going to cause major damage, but even through that degree of pain, someone could still get enough strength to aim a blow in your direction, especially Heavy. Try and knock them out before they get the chance, because then they're going to know where you are, and they'll attack."

Once more I drew, and finally hit the desired spot, right on the Heavy's chin.

"Aces," Sniper grinned. "But Heavy's the easiest target," he informed me. "That butterball's as slow as melting ice and big like a glacier; hitting him's not an issue. I'll be real impressed if you hit that." And with his words, he pointed again. "The gremlin you're sharing your bedroom with is the toughest person to hit when sniping." I saw the slim cut-out of the Scout several feet behind the one of Heavy. "That bastard's small and damn fast like a jackrabbit in heat. You have to aim about three paces ahead, or he'll run right past your shot."

"He's that fast?" I asked.

"Faster," he said. "And he's not even your biggest issue."

I furrowed my brow. "Didn't you just say he's the hardest to hit?" I asked.

"Oh he's the hardest to hit alright," he agreed. "But hitting is not as big an issue as getting hit," he said. "And nobody's a bigger pain in the arse in that respect than the spook."

"The Spy?" I asked, hating the taste that word brought to my tongue.

"Aye," he confirmed. "That frog's a right menace to snipin he is."

"He's quite tall and broad shouldered," I offered. "And he doesn't seem especially energetic. Why should he be any harder to hit than the Scout?"

"That's all fine and dandy when you can see him love," he said. "The problem starts when you can't."

"Wait, what?" I asked in confusion.

"Didn't anybody tell you, kid? Spies can turn invisible, or worse, they can disguise themselves as your teammates, or anyone really." He pulled down his aviators to better show me his eyes. "I could even be a Spy right now and you wouldn't know it."

I was trying very hard not to shiver right then. I was already scared of the blu spy, and he wasn't even trying to kill me, or so I hoped. If the red spy could turn invisible… "So the red spy could be behind us right now?" I asked, turning round in alarm as the question left my mouth.

"Well I doubt he's here right now, but you bet your tea he's gonna be during battle. Snipers are a favourite target to spies. We're easy prey when our sights are locked onto the scope," he said. "I've got stabbed in the back more times than I can count by that red bastard." He demonstrated by pulling up his shirt in the back to bare a very scarred expanse of tanned skin. He turned back round to face me. "You watch your back constantly during battle, kid," he told me. "Enemy is enemy, but there's a clear-cut line between opponent and sadist. The spy is the last one. He kills creatively whenever he gets the chance, and I heard he likes to play with his toys." His voice was heavy with warning. "Don't make yourself an easy target Sheila," he advised, "because I'm afraid you'd make for a very pretty toy." He pulled his shirt back down and picked up his weapon.

"Now," he said, overlooking the state of alarm I was in, "Show me what you've got and hit those targets."