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He didn’t know where he’d picked up the habit, although he supposed it must have been from his ma. Plenty of times growing up he remembered waking to her soft footsteps, her shadow moving down the hallway outside the bedroom he shared with whichever brother(s), as she checked on everyone. Sometimes it was the last thing she did before she went to bed, sometimes she got up in the middle of the night to make her quiet rounds.Scout had never known why exactly she did it, if it was some particular anxiety, or just part of motherhood.
It was nothing like maternal instinct that had Scout awake in the middle of the night, staring up at the ceiling above his bed, in the room where he was bunking with Demo. It wasn’t even Demo’s outrageously loud snoring–Scout usually slept through that just fine. The sleeptalking, too. Scout could usually sleep through pretty much anything, especially after a day like the team had had, just barely repelling a robot assault on Mann Works. So it wasn’t like he didn’t need the sleep, because he did, fairly desperately. Scout would be the first to tell anyone who asked that he had every last one of his colleagues beat for stamina, but you could only run for so long on caffeine and sheer force of will before it became medically inadvisable to try to stay awake any longer.
But there was a vicious itch of anxiety at the back of his brain, some niggling little sensation that something was wrong. Scout found himself sitting up, clambering down from his bunk and tugging on a pair of pants. He debated only briefly about a shirt, then decided it was neither necessary nor wise. After all–and inwardly Scout was more than willing to admit this–partly he hoped to run into Miss Pauling. If that was one nice thing about the whole robot war, at least he got to see a lot more of Miss Pauling. Lately she stayed over, rooming at the same bases they did, to coordinate the Administrator’s orders on the ground. She was a habitually light sleeper, and frequently kept late hours. Probably she’d appreciate it, how thoughtful Scout was being. What was the word–conscientious. Yeah. Never mind that he couldn’t seem to sleep, that was totally beside the point.
He’d just take a peek in everybody’s room. Just to make sure everything was okay. Probably it was. Demo was already fine, snoring contentedly. One down, seven mercs to go. And then Miss Pauling. He’d check on her last.
Across the hall, Engie and Medic. Nothing to see there, only the soft rustle of feathers from the covered cage beside Medic’s bed, and the slight hydraulic hum of the sentry that re-targeted towards the door when Scout opened it a crack, peered inside. He shut it before the thing could lock on–probably it wasn’t calibrated to shoot team members, but it was better safe than sorry.
The next door down, Sniper and Pyro. If his van was unavailable, Sniper insisted on sleeping in a hammock that he brought with him everywhere, and this was slung as high in the corner of the room as possible. A long leg dangled over the edge. Pyro had the bunkbed to himself and had constructed a blanket fort. Nothing to worry about.
Spy always seemed to manage to room alone. Scout knew–from painful experience–better than to try and open the spook’s door without knocking. Scout knew–from an entirely separate painful experience–that knocking wasn’t even a safe bet. Spy was probably fine. Probably even if he wasn’t in his room, he was fine. Scout was pretty sure Spy was fine. Scout mostly didn’t want to be stabbed.
Heavy and Soldier were supposed to be in the room across from Spy’s. Scout probably should have done more than just poking his head in the door. Probably by this point he was rushing, because he’d caught a glimpse of Miss Pauling’s door at the end of the hallway, open just a crack, but with no light on inside.
Scout was suddenly acutely aware of the slight chill in the air, and the fact that possibly he should have put on a shirt. Possibly this was about to be really awkward. Possibly the word “nipples” had blinked into his brain and absolutely was not leaving. Possibly this was a bad idea.
Still.
That nervous itch at the back of his brain. Scout knocked lightly on her door. No answer. The nervous itch grew into a nervous flutter.
“Miss Pauling?” he started, nudging her door open a crack, before he realized he didn’t know how to continue. I was just getting some water. I was sleepwalking. I thought I heard something. Couldn’t sleep. Wasn’t that I was worried about you or nothin’. Just wanted to check an’ make sure the place was all secure an’ whatever. Please don’t look at my nipples.
Except Miss Pauling wasn’t there.
Oh thank god.
The flood of relief was replaced by a sudden, cold wash of panic as he pushed the door the rest of the way open and peered inside her neat, sparse quarters. Miss Pauling wasn’t there?
…where else would she be? She couldn’t have gone far. Maybe she’d come back. Maybe she was just getting a glass of water or something. Probably he’d better sit down and wait for her. Probably if she didn’t turn up in ten minutes or so, he’d better go and look. Maybe even go and wake everyone up. Miss Pauling was missing.
It wasn’t like his bunk was the most comfortable place in the world, but it certainly would have been more comfortable than the floor outside of Miss Pauling’s room. And everything else he’d worried about was still substantially less embarrassing than being woken by the nudge of a toe in his ribs, just before dawn. He definitely hadn’t just fallen right asleep outside her door. That would be weird.
Miss Pauling was standing over him, looking tired and slightly disheveled. Miss Pauling was usually one of the most sheveled people he knew, but he wasn’t quite awake enough to process this yet, how her hair was starting to come loose from its neat chignon, how her dress was torn and splattered with some nameless substance, how her glasses were a little further askew than usual. “…Scout?”
Shit. “…oh. Uh. S’morning? Morning. H-hey. You, uh, y’weren’t in your room, an’ I just…well, s’just I was–”
“Were you checking on me?” Her tone was that one he could never quite get a read on, the one that could be wry amusement or irritation or possibly something else he couldn’t even begin to guess at.
“Uh. Yeah, well, y’know, was checkin’ on everybody, just ‘cuz I couldn’t sleep, an’ then you weren’t there, an’ I wasn’t sure if you’d be back, or if I should go an’ look or–”
“You check on everybody?”
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit, I am an idiot, she’s gonna think I– “W-well. Yeah. Yeah, guess I do, just…I dunno, couldn’t sleep. Ain’t meant it t’be creepy or anything, it’s only how my ma used to do. Checkin’ on everybody. An’ then you weren’t here, and I just…was worried, I guess.”
But she smiled, smoothed a hand through her hair. “That’s…well, that’s kind of sweet, Scout. Very mother hen.”
Scout got to his feet, sore and really wishing he hadn’t slept on the floor. And then getting a good look at her, a proper look, the hair, the skirt, the glasses– “Hey…you okay, Miss Pauling? Where’d you go?”
“Had a long night. Never mind where I went,” Briskly, a little bit terse. Probably he shouldn’t have asked, none of his business. But her tone softened again, and, “Good lord, you slept out here? On the floor and everything? Go back to bed, Scout, there’s a few more hours before I need you on the field, you really ought to get some proper sleep.”
“…What, me, nah, I’m fine, I–”
Miss Pauling leveled a serious, scrutinizing stare at him over the rims of her glasses. “Scout.”
“…heh. Yeah, okay. If you’re okay, anyway. You are, right?”
“I’m fine.” But that smile again, and then she reached out and touched his arm, lightly. “Thank you, though, for thinking of me. I’m sorry I made you worry.”
Scout grinned. He probably wasn’t going to be able to sleep, for thinking about her. “Sure. Anytime.”