Note... the second chapter was mostly unnecessary (and I don't have it. d'oh) and so I'll omit it.

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"I could just ask him... No, that would be weird, and besides, he would lie if it was the other thing... I could try and get into his medical file? No, Doc would stop me for sure..." He paced in his room, thoughts too loud to keep in his head, footsteps providing a beat for his thoughts. They flew back and forth, repeating, mating, twisting. The options available to him were all dead ends.

The Scout sighed irritably as he sat down on his bunk, running a hand through his hair in a distracted motion. It was his fault for rising to the Sniper's challenge so quickly – showing his hand before a bet had been placed, taking all of his jabs and being led right by the nose. But he couldn't help it – the man was just so goddamned inflammatory and smug! He had tried to keep a handle on himself, but when the Sniper had started in with his “don't think you're up to it” and “might as well go back to bed”, in those broadly accented tones, he had just lost it, shouting and declaring that he WOULD find out what gender the Pyro was under those clothes. It was a stupid challenge, and wouldn't be so hard to accomplish.

The showers. Get in there, see Pyro in there, get out. It was quick as that. Quick and easy and not at all likely to get him burned... unless he was seen and suspected of spying. He wasn't a spook like the real Spy - he didn't have an excuse for it. He had to make it be a real accident... so why not just hope he ran into him? Pick the lock, say it was open, get in there, get a look, make apologies... He shook his head a little, but what other choice did he have? He sat to contemplate it, but it was stuck - his thoughts were sometimes erratic, and one would get stuck in there, but he often just went with it, which had led him to be such a talented Scout: unpredictable, and more dangerous for it.

He gathered his shower things, and began to step out of his door when... yes... the Pyro was there again, like the last night. Getting into the bathroom. He was stripped of his gloves and his mask was pushed halfway up his face. No stubble there, but that meant nothing. Scout cursed softly and ducked back into his room. He had contemplated this the previous night, but had dismissed it. But now it seemed like the easiest way to win it... he glanced back out. The door was closed and presumably locked.

The Scout forced himself to wait a few minutes, and then he slipped over to the bathroom, trying the handle. Yes it was locked, and yes he had a bobby-pin. The lock sprung open near-immediately, and the handle turned. He pushed his way in, quickly and carelessly, turning toward the showers - and then a pair of hands grabbed him in a rough headlock then. He struggled, attempting to shout, but his air was cut off. He writhed in their grip, but they were so strong...

"You wanted to see, huh?! You wanted to peek on me. What's the matter with you, you weird little...!" That voice was familiar - if it were muffled, it would be obvious. Scout knew the Pyro's voice like the lines of his palm; they had been stationed together for little under three years in various places, due to luck and their excellent teamwork. But that's all it had been - a knowledge of person, and the things a pair of friends shared. Who was waiting back home, stories about his brothers - guy talk. Pyro couldn't be female...

"Scout, look at me while I talk to you!" At that command he was pinned on his back to the floor, and he looked up at the face that had become familiar to him - boyish and smoothly formed. Masculine but effeminate at the same time, framed by messy black hair. Green eyes pierced through Matt like always, but he forced himself to scowl, meeting the Pyro's own.

"What, Pyro?! The door was open! I thought nobody was in h-"

"Bullshit! That's a bald-faced lie. You saw me last night, you saw me now, so why are you trying to get in and watch me shower?!" the other man spat, holding him down more fiercely. "What is this, really? You know I like privacy."

"Pyro, listen-"

"No! You wanted something, didn't you?! I think I know. Scout, we may have spent a lot of time together but-"

"No, it's not like that!"

"Then what is it?! You want to see me naked?!"

It flashed across his mind and he bit his lip hard. It would put him in a hard spot but... the challenge would be won, and... he steeled himself and shouted back, "Yes! Okay?! Take that shit off! It's... it's bugging the hell outta me!"

The Pyro drew back, visibly startled, but then he glared. "Fine! You know what, fine!" he snapped, but then he grabbed Scout's hands and grabbed for something-

The metallic clicks, one by one, made the Scout jump and try and pull away, but... he was cuffed! Wrists cuffed together by steel. "Hey man, what are you doing?!" he asked, but got no reply as the Pyro roughly pulled him to his feet, and then pushed him down onto the wooden bench, on his back, and hastily bound the younger man's feet together, to the bench. He struggled, but the Pyro was strong, and had him trapped in a moment.

"You wanna see me naked?!" he snapped as he retrieved something else - a long scrap of cloth. He bound it around the other young man's eyes, and snarled. "Well, you're going to feel it!"

"Pyro, man, what are you- HEY, WHAT-" he said, then shouted as he felt hands on his belt, his zipper, and then his pants and boxers were roughly pulled down. There was a rustling of fabric and zippers, and then the sound of them falling to the floor, along with boots and a mask - the Pyro was naked now...

"Alright, you can!" A bare hand wrapped around his length, which was half-hard due to his binding (although he'd never tell a soul) and began to pump it slowly. The flesh was warm and somewhat moist - the bathroom was kept warm to keep water flowing smoothly in all seasons. "Feel this? Feel my hand on you? My bare hand? What's the other one doing, do you wonder!" he snapped, and the Scout uneasily shifted under the other's hand, trying to twist away. "Stop it, you wanted this."

The hand was gone then, and the young man's cock was hard. The absence of the hand's warmth was enough to make him writhe slightly, his cock twitching authoratatively, a drop of precum beading at the tip... another twitch, and then there was enough to send a small rivulet of the thick fluid down the underside of his cock, making him moan softly at the barely-there sensation. He shook his head as if to deny it, but there was no escaping it - the pleasure at being bound and at the mercy of another man... thinking about it made him shiver hard, more precum making its way down the sensitive, heated flesh.

And then there was something that he didn't expect - a soft, warmth touching the skin of his length. It felt like... but no... but then there was the all-encompassing pleasure that made the Scout's head tip back and a soft moan make its way out of the man's throat. He lifted his hips into the feeling, shivering hard. It was incredible, undeniably tight warmth, and he struggled against his bonds to try and get it around him more, to get his entire cock deep in... but it couldn't be pussy, because the Pyro was a man. But there were faggots, who used other men like women... He thought of that and experienced a distressing mix of emotion - disgust, and deeper, arousal. But then that warmth was moving around him, and... all other thoughts vanished except for a faint wording of "oh"s and "fuck"s. He first strained against his bonds, and then writhed in them, bucking his hips into the warmth, his mouth standing open, which he supposed invited the heated kiss he received, and then the firm bite on his neck as the tightness moved around his cock, more roughly, more quickly, and then he felt himself coming. He hadn't authorized that but his body was rocked by deep pleasure, and he was thrusting fiercely up into... him? Her? Goddamn it he wished he just KNEW. But it felt so good... but he could be a faggot... the orgasm was a confusing mixture and a dimly frightening one, too.

Then the warmth was gone and the Pyro's hands were untying him, the key turning in the lock of the cuffs, and then he was roughly shoved off of the bench, meeting the cold tile floor with his entire front side, painfully. "There, that's what you wanted... isn't it, you weird little faggot," the Pyro's voice came, along with his foot, digging viciously into his ribs, hard enough to turn him over. "Just what you wanted. What everybody wants. I know. That... that weird Sniper... I thought he was the only one, but then the Spy... and then you..." His voice had begun to tremble. "What's next, the Medic? Heavy? Soldier?! All of you all at once?!" He kicked the Scout again. "You people are... are sick!"

And then there was the sound of his footsteps retreating, and the bathroom door thumped shut, leaving Scout alone.

Tenderness comin' up the hell right now.

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"I'm warning you, Sniper-"

"Come on, just be quiet. You know you like it-"

"You take your hands off of me!"

"Leave him alone." His voice cut through the room like a knife. His eyes were hard, cold grey steel, and he held his pistol with a steady hand, levelling it at the tall man's head. The Sniper moved away from the smaller form, hands held up. Matt's glare sharpened and he motioned for the man to get out of the room with a quick jerk of his gun. The tall New Zealander slowly zipped up his pants before stalking out of the room, dark eyes locked on the Scout's as he went. Only after he was certain the man was gone did he hit the safety and jam it back into its holster, shutting the door quietly before turning to the man that huddled in the corner, on his bunk.

"Pyro..."

"Get out!" came the other's quick and harsh reply. The Scout had begun to step forward, but he reversed a couple of steps at the other's tone.

"...No. Look here, Pyro-"

"I told you to get out-"

"Pyro, will you just shut your mouth!?" he finally shouted, gesturingly harshly at the other man. The other complied, but his green eyes were still piercing and full of anger. And worse still... it disturbed Matt to see the shame in them - what would he have to be ashamed of? That creepy freak was trying to do something to him, not the other way around... "Hey, Pyro," he said softly as he stepped over to the bed, not sitting but watching the other young man closely. "Hey..."

"Hey what?" snapped the Pyro, and he tried to push himself further into the corner when the Scout sat, but it wasn't a frantic motion - more of an unconscious movement, and that caused a little sting in Matt's chest. He brushed the feeling away, but he couldn't brush away the fact that the Pyro's pain affected him.

It had been most of a month since what had happened in the showers; Matt had been trying hard to forget about it, but the memory wouldn't fade as hard as he tried to squash it. It came back in dreams that left his sheets damp and messy, dreams that made him feel a low sense of shame mixed with excitement. He had seen the other man briefly a few times, not counting battle - the alarms had gone off and they seemed to just come together, the Scout running ahead and bringing enemies back to where the Pyro was waiting with flames, just ahead of the Engineer's nest of machinery. But in the halls of their base, things were completely different. On the quiet days when there was no battle, Pyro was hard to find.

It wouldn't be such a strange thing if it was new, but Pyro was always one of the more quietly sociable ones. Matt was used to his his laughter, muffled or otherwise, coming from the corner where he'd sit, just as he was used to the Spy's French curses, the way Heavy dominated the room but not the conversation, how Solly would wheeze and cough, spitting into the Engie's empty (hopefully) beer cans. At first, the Pyro did linger in the corner, but he had begun vanishing earlier and earlier, and then he just didn't come down at all. Mealtimes came and went and Pyro wasn't eating with them.

Matt had begun to be concerned early on, but he'd never made an effort to find the problem - Pyro was big on his privacy, which wasn't so suspicious, considering the fact that he'd grown up an only child, used to having his way and his solitude (at least as far as the man had told him). But then when he ran into Pyro in the halls, after actively looking for him for a couple of days, he saw something that troubled him. Pyro had been in his other change of clothes - they'd been allowed two sets of clothes in addition to their battle uniforms, but some had gone through those already, Pyro included. Baggy sweatshirt, blue jeans, the regular fare, but Matt had been able to finally get a look at the man.

He'd been losing weight, Matt saw, and probably not sleeping very well as evidenced by the bags under his eyes. But what troubled the Scout so much was the fading rose of a bruise on the other man's jaw, and what looked to be a bite peeking out from the pale skin of his neck. The other young man had hurried past, yanking the hood of his sweatshirt up, but Matt had seen, and he was mildly frightened; what could have happened to the man he could have called a friend?

Matt had been coming up to finally demand some answers out of the guy, but then he'd heard those voices, seen the Sniper at him, and... He fetched a soft sigh and looked over at the Pyro again, breaking out of his thoughts. Questions circled in his mind, but he caught ahold of the one that he thought would bring less fire. "Pyro..." he began, and then broke off. He searched through his mind - he'd known it once... "Liam. Isn't it?"

At the mention of his true name, the man jerked in surprise, then stared at Matt sharply. "What... what do you want, Matt?" His name emerged from the other's mouth in a harsh frame, but the Scout smiled faintly.

"Liam... look, whatever happened between you and me was... surprising and unexplained. Yeah? We can leave it be. But whatever that tall Kiwi freak is doin' to you, that ain't right. My job is hurting people, yeah, but my job ain't sitting by while my own teammates get batted around. Now you're gonna tell me what the hell that flippin' freak's deal is, and I'm gonna do something about it," he said, doing his best not to gesticulate wildly, his hands remaining mostly stationary except for the odd broad gesture.

The other was quiet for a long moment before saying, softly, "Why do you care, Matt?" The defeat in his voice caused another sharp sting in Matt's chest, and he closed his eyes against it, listening as the man continued. "It's not like we're... well, I... oh, I just don't know," he finally finished up, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. His eyes were dry and slightly blank, growing blanker, and he shook his head slowly. Somehow, it was worse than seeing him cry, and Matt finally sat beside the other, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder. Liam jumped slightly at the touch, but look up at Matt as his eyes cleared.

"Look. I care because we're friends. You're my buddy; I gotta look out for you when you can watch your own back. Just like you're looking out for me, out there," he said, gesturing toward the no-man's land between the two fortresses. "We're buds. Out there, in here. Don't you know that, man?"

"I..." His voice was soft and hesitatant. "I guess that's right... I didn't know you thought that way."

"Of course I do. Now are you gonna tell me what that smug deadeyed asshole is up to, or am I gonna have to go whack him without a reason?" Matt asked, framing the question in humor to hide the truth in it.

"It's... it's just that he's... some kind of freak, I guess. Deranged fag or something. I can get it, I'm thin and pale and I've got a girly face. Cool. But it's... it's not for somebody else to just take. Some guys get desperate when they're out of reach of their woman. I get it," the Pyro said softly, looking down to study his bare feet. He was in his sweatshirt and jeans now, and it was likely he would sleep in them. "But I don't... I'm not really... like that. You know it. I... what happened with us, it's..."

"Yeah... I don't know, man. I felt something, but I didn't see nothin'," he said, shrugging and looking up at Liam, trying to meet his eyes. Finally he had to take ahold of the other's chin and force him to look, steel-grey eyes meeting overbright green. "Liam. Whatever you did to me, you obviously did it for some other reason. So we ain't like that."

The other nodded slowly, then looked away again. "Well, it's just that... Micah, he seems to want to be that way. With me. And he won't stop. He's... he's tried to get at me before. Never did, though... I've been lucky. Lucky three times, but... and you showed up... but if you hadn't..." He trailed off, shaking his head, eyes shut tightly.

They sat together in awkward quiet before Matt said softly, "I'm gonna kill him."

"No, you can't," Liam came back at him, immediately. "He's still our team. We may not like him, but I guess Doc Ethan does. And Eric. Solly, too..."

"It doesn't matter. What he's trying to do to you, it ain't right! It's..." He struggled with himself for a moment before blurting, "it's rape!"

They were both quiet for a long moment before Liam sighed shakily, putting a hand to his forehead. "I know. I know it's not right. But..." He fell silent, and the quiet between them grew very loud. After a long moment, Matt moved to stand up, but Liam snared his wrist. "Don't go," he said quickly, urgently, and colored faintly at his outburst.

"Liam?"

"I mean... don't leave. What if... what if Micah... Sniper..." He seemed to struggle with his words, but Matt understood; he wanted protection.

"Oh. Then I guess... it's alright. I don't mind," he said with a shrug, moving to untie his shoes. "You want me to sleep here, right?"

"Y... yeah..." His voice was hushed and slightly shy, but there was no shame in it, which made Matt feel much better about it. "Yeah, I want you to sleep here. We can... share the bed, it's been cold," he said in a rush, trying to shrug nonchalantly.

"Yeah," Matt returned, and after a while, he was curled up to the other man, dozing in their shared warmth, and didn't notice when the Pyro's arms crept around him. In the morning they were a tangle, but for that moment, they were just two men.

And now for something slightly different. Here's the end of the older stuff; newer will be coming up.

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The sound of gunfire broke through the early morning silence, but no alarms sounded – this raised much suspicion at the BLU base, and the Soldier stormed through the rooms shouting. Battle positions were readied, and there was a very pregnant long paused when the whole team was wound tight. Matt glanced to his right and saw that Liam was there, waiting. He was thin and drawn under the suit, true, but when he was suited up, he was really frightening. The lenses of his gas-mask flashed in the light – he seemed inhuman. He felt a deep pull toward him, but pushed it away – keep his mind on the battle, that was the main thing… the Force-A-Nature was ready. But the next rattle of bullets was no closer, and the Sniper was sent up to survey what the issue seemed to be.

Through his scope, Micah surveyed the little “courtyard” in front of the REDs’ base, and sighed at what he found. Reaching for his radio, he said in his most broadly accented tones, “The blokes over there are having themselves wot looks to be a shootin’ competition, mates. There’s not gonna be a battle today I think. Not ‘less we start it ourselves.”

He elected to keep his perch, though – it wasn’t as though he enjoyed it up here, god no, with the sun coming in the other window and heating his skin, and the splintery box he was using as a chair was rather uncomfortable as well. There was old coffee and jars of piss all over the place… but he still kept his perch, because it would be much worse to descend and mingle with his “teammates”.

He knew the way things went; it was “the team”, “the Spy” and the “Sniper”. They didn’t like him, and he didn’t like them. He wasn’t a part of them except for whom he was supposed to kill – that was the only thing that tied them together. He could work on his own as easily… He acknowledged that they could protect him from people coming up to kill him, and he acknowledged that he could protect them via headshots delivered to the hated REDs… but that was it. He worked for himself, and for whoever paid him the most.

He turned inward when he perched, losing himself to his thoughts, his dark fantasies, his thoughts and that was all. An infinite world spun out inside of himself; there was deep darkness inside of the Sniper, and he knew it, and embraced it. He had deep desires that made him hate himself. Had black thoughts that came to the forefront with time. Shifting layers of hate and want slithered across each other behind his eyes – dark eyes that saw but were blind…

In his depth he missed the REDs’ looks – missed their hurried conversation. Missed their Sniper raising his rifle… thank God for the sun behind him. The pain tore into his bicep, and he cried out in pain, falling backwards with his rifle clutched to his chest – protect the gun, the gun was his livelihood…

It took him a long moment to realize what had happened. The pain was an enormous beast, roaring inside him veins, gnawing at the place where flesh had been. He clenched his teeth tightly, wondering if he could fix it himself. But he felt his mind drawing away, drawing back into the darkness, and there was really only one thing to do.

“Me… MEDIC!” he shouted, the loud sound seeming slightly soft to his own ears, but the force registered in his chest. “MEDIC!” Fumbling for the radio with his uninjured arm, he gritted his teeth, fighting for consciousness. Biting harshly at his tongue, he drew away from the pain and focused on the radio. The talk button. Push it. “Medic… medic…” he managed to say, and then he slumped back again, hearing their replies but not listening to them.

He loathed to be indebted to another. To be saved. Rescued. But now there was no helping it – he would die otherwise. It was a very long wait and Micah found himself slipping back into his deepest thoughts. The real world of light didn’t concern him now – his pain slipped past his fingers, and then he was wrapped in black. Killing was his nature, his job. Killing was what sustained him, whether he acknowledged that or not. Would it be his time to die now?

Here was Ethan, struggling up the ladder with his medipak on his back. How would he hold the cannon of it? But it wasn’t important. Here was Ethan, whom he fucked and forgot. Here was the doctor who healed and left. Here was the man he didn’t need but wanted so deeply and painfully – yet no, no wanting, desire was the heart of pain and he would reject it. He squirmed where he was, not hearing the insistence that he rest, that he be still, the statement that he was bleeding badly still. That there would need to be surgery. That the medigun wouldn’t fix this all the way. He simply kept his dark eyes trained on Ethan’s deep blue ones, peering out of a young and anxious face. He wasn’t supposed to look so young – Ethan was older than he was, but he was so young. Fear was changing his eyes, changing his expression. Why was there fear? But his eyes were closing, and he was then wrapped in the darkness that ran in his veins.

Time passed, a rush of fog. Micah knew that. He could recognize time. He was well acquainted with it, but he didn’t serve it… but the pain was there, separating him from time. From darkness. He opened his eyes.

The infirmary was foreign to most men on the team; the battles had been light enough to keep the Medic’s attention on the Heavy. There had been deaths, yes, and replacements for their losses, but there hadn’t been horrid mutilations that had required stitches and gauze and hospitalization. You were either dead or you were alive – that was the Medic’s concern.

But looking up at the clean, white ceiling, Micah wondered. He was here, and that meant he was alive. Pain was there, though, enormous, in his left arm, ripping through him. He tried to squirm away from it and groaned lowly.

Ethan watched his movements, lip bit gently in anxiety. He stood there, watching Micah sleep restlessly, the medication he’d administered for pain and for sleep wearing off. It was no good – he couldn’t sedate him again. He knew how Micah felt about medicine – the time he’d had with the other had taught him that much; the colds he’d caught, the stiffness in his joints from sitting so long, and he’d refused aspirin, cold medicine, every pill he’d had to offer was rather brusquely rejected. But that was just Micah’s way, and Ethan acknowledged it.

Slowly, he’d watched Micah’s drawing away, and hadn’t grasped at him – he didn’t want the pain of rejection to sting him, not again, after his wife… but that was different, a different life. This was now, at this battlesite, and it was on him to do his duty and not become too attached. He wasn’t supposed to be this way. But the time in battle, the time consuming him, the time spent with his mates… of course he would grow close to one. But why, Gott, warum musste es auf diese Weise sein?

He laid a hand gently on the Sniper’s brow, sighing softly, watching his face twist into a moue of pain as he moved, quivering slightly. “Micah,” he said softly, not quite calling to the other man, but he was surprised to be rewarded with the other man’s eyes opening, fixing on his. They were red-rimmed and hazy, but they were Micah’s eyes…

“Micah, you’ve been shot. It sounds stupid to ask you this, but how are you feeling?” he asked softly, not letting himself stroke the other’s skin with reverent fingertips. Micah made it clear that he wasn’t interested in anything other than his… “insides”, he supposed, dodging away from English vulgarities in his mind.

“Like I’ve been shot,” came the dry, slightly cracking voice of the wounded man, earning a very small smile from Ethan. He opened his mouth to ask more seriously, but Micah shook his head a little. “Thirsty. In pain. You’re gonna give me a pill, ain’cha?”

“It depends. Do you want a pill?” he returned softly, removing his hand away from the other’s warm brow. “I’ve got injections for pain, if you’re really set against a pill.”

“No. Thirsty. I’ll take y’r pill…” Micah muttered, turning his face away, sighing softly and grimacing at the pain that bloomed when he tried to shift on the hospital bed. He turned back to Ethan, though, watching as he stepped over to his medical cabinet and rummaged through. He was in his uniform, so white but for the smear of blood across his front, undoubtedly from the hole in his arm. He felt a low pulse of loneliness and sorrow, and he tried to push it away – but it wrapped around him. Vaguely, the feeling of Ethan’s arms around him returned, along with the faintest memory of his smell. He had been a gentle lover, and a grateful recipient… He had made Micah believe there was something more waiting below the surface. But no, there wasn’t. There was never.

The doctor returned to Micah’s bedside, setting the pair of rather large pills beside a waterglass on the metal table beside the hospital cot. Murmuring softly, he helped the other man sit up, trying to soothe his hissing exclamations of pain. He set the back of the bed so that he could sit up easily, and he smiled slightly as the Sniper brushed away his assistance with an air of deep irritation.

After he took his pills and sunk back into the bed, pain still written across his face, Ethan adjusted the chair beside the bed and settled into it, watching Micah’s face. The lines, the flaws, the shape and the light across his skin… He knew the feelings he had. He knew attachment. And he knew when it wasn’t accepted…

Micah steadfastly ignored his presence, trying to slip into sleep, and yet… it was useless. Ethan was there; Ethan was watching. Ethan wasn’t leaving him. He glanced over to the other man and saw his deep blue eyes trained on his own, and sighed. He found himself dimly wishing that he could meet them with a smile, with the admission of how he felt – in this haze of medication, he felt light around him instead of blackness, and took it as normalcy… but slowly sleep claimed him, and he sighed as he sank into a dream – a dream of light, with a dark-haired man’s arms around him.

This is much improved! I eagerly await the next update.

Sorry for the dry-spell. I'll have this updated some time this week.

Short chapter is short, but at least I'm working on it!

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Weeks passed and time progressed in its merciless march. Battles came and went, and when Micah was released from the infirmary, he found that some losses had been sustained. Two of their Engineers had died, and a Soldier, and a Pyro - those deaths were expected, because they always lost people. But then there was one listed as a 'casualty'... There were no names on the report, and so Micah set out to find exactly what had happened.

"Oi Jim, Angelo," he said as he strolled into the breakroom that had been and still was his kingdom, plopping down onto the couch and immediately putting his boots on the coffee table. The Soldier and Spy murmured their own greetings over the card table they were both seated at, playing some form of Gin. He watch the two play for a moment before asking, "What all did I miss, boys?"

"Some pretty heavy battle. We lost a few good men," Angelo replied, laying down cards idly. The Spy wasn't wearing his balaclava, and so how very tired and worn he looked was obvious (and a little bit shocking). "We came off worse both engagements. I hope HQ will send us reinforcements soon."

"Yeah, yeah, but who all did we lose?" The Sniper's arms crossed tightly across his chest as he slouched in his seat a bit.

"Well, there was Manny and Junior, the Wonder Twins. We're not going to have their teamwork any more, which is a big loss," the Spy replied with a heavy sigh, breaking off when the Soldier picked up.

"Lost my recruit. One I was training. Poor bastard took an arrow right in the eyesocket from a scum-sucking maggot RED Sniper." The way Solly placed his cards made sharp sounds in the relatively quiet room. "Never stood a chance."

"And, of course, the Pyro death. It was the Pyro whose gender you were wondering about, Micah," Angelo said as he looked up at the man, laying down the last cards in his hand. "They still won't tell us, of course."

It was a shock to hear that - to hear that the one he had picked on so recently was now dead. The bite of guilt was a bear-trap in his side - he bit at his lip and suppressed the urge to curse or say 'crikey' or something like that, but his expression of guilt couldn't be hidden. There was a silence in the room, punctuated by the sound of cards shuffling, spinning out long until Micah spoke again.

"And the 'casualty'?" he asked, trying to seem unconcerned.

"That Scout that you challenged to find the Pyro's gender," said Angelo, loftily, as he dealt a new hand for him and the Soldier. "Odd, isn't it? But you can't feel too bad. It is not because of your challenge. But the Scout, he is in the infirmary. He is having trouble stomaching food and they have had to put an IV drip on him. Most likely in a different Medic's office."

The Sniper simply stared at the men for a moment before standing. The two looked up at him, and watched him stalk out of the room, his hands jammed deeply in his pockets, before they simply resumed their game of cards. Angelo had expected Micah to react that way - he was a bully, but he wasn't heartless, and two people that he had 'challenged' were harmed seriously. Of course he would be concerned... but he would have nothing to do with it.

---------♥♫♥----------

"Micah. Back so soon?" the Medic asked in a friendly tone, to be met only with a stony, silent look. He shrank back a little, and then looked over to Ethan, who simply motioned for him to move. The Sniper watched Ethan as he stalked through the room, ducking into the other medic's office, and sure enough, there was the Scout. He looked pale and drawn, but he was awake and the displeasure at seeing Micah was obvious in his eyes.

"What do you want, bushbaby?" he asked pointedly, resettling himself where he lay, ready to be agitated, but his expression turned from annoyed to confused as the other man stalked over to his bedside and pulled the chair up. "What? Really, what the hell do ya want?"

"It's about... that challenge. You know," he said softly, and watched the Scout's expression turn shocked, and then angry.

"Get the hell out of here! I don't give a fuck about that challenge, I never did-"

"Shut up and listen to me. I'm sorry about it. It was uncalled-for." He shifted a bit, crossing and then recrossing his legs. "Look, I'm just sorry. You can hate me if you need to. But just know that I didn't mean for... for it to happen."

After a long and awkward moment, the man stood and left the room, leaving Matt behind to look puzzled and hurt.