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– Hey, Snipes... Could ya' drop me at the Camelthorn diner? By 1 pm?
The question was so sudden, that Sniper blinked in confusion and asked to rephrase.
Scout obliged, impatiently shuffling from foot to foot at the van's doorstep.
The sun was up enough to light almost the entire courtyard of Dustbowl's residential section. Normally that would mean the peak of the workday, but for a weekend it was unspeakably early. Sniper hadn't even set his alarm today, and would have slept until lunch if Scout didn’t wake him up. That's why he was standing there in his underwear, sleepy and desperately clueless of what the young man wanted him to do.
Scout, on the other hand, was fully dressed, freshly showered, and even... Perfumed? The rifleman took another sniff to be sure, and something piney-fresh did indeed prick his nostrils. The runner must have doused himself with cologne right before he left, and the alcohol had not evaporated yet. For some reason Scout was wearing civilian clothes, which seemed very uncharacteristic.
– I'd drive myself, if only I had a car... Seriously, I didn't wanna be a bother, it’s just, um, happened... Well, you know, - Scout, apparently, considered his companion's silence as a sign of judgment.
Sniper wasn't sure he knew. He didn't even know which direction to look.
– I'll pay you back for the gas, just drop me there, man? I really need it, - the runner’s voice was pleading. Perhaps he decided that greed was the thing preventing the gunman from agreeing.
– You can shove them… Not taking money from you, no, - Sniper finally came to his senses and hastened to deny being labeled as a greedy toad, - What do you even need there, pal?
As far as the gunman knew, it was a long stretch from the diner they usually stopped at on their way back from the city.
– Well... She said yes. Ms. Pauling, - Scout mumbled, looking down.
– What? - Sniper felt like he didn’t catch something.
– She agreed, - the runner took a small breath, still not looking the gunman in the eyes, - to go on a date with me.
– When did that happen? - Sniper muttered bluntly, feeling his hand rise to his nape and burrow into his hair.
– Yesterday, after the meeting. Just asked her, and she went along with it, you know? - Scout let out a nervous chuckle, - So, can you drive me?
Yesterday evening there was indeed a meeting at the RED team headquarters, which Sniper, as usual, had shamelessly spent in his van, sleeping. Apparently, this time he really did miss something interesting - usually it was just tedious plan discussions and paperwork. After so many months at this job, the gunman knew he could get all the important meeting info from the Engineer, and sign the papers and pass it on to the next meeting through the Spy.
Wait. Something didn't add up. Something prevented Scout from waking the gunman yesterday, but not today? And so obscenely early, too. The man checked the clock, and it wasn't even eleven yet.
Though, judging by the jerky way Scout was moving and looking around, it was just anxiety.
– Is it far? - Sniper asked with a sigh. He had no reason to refuse the young man (though he really wanted to), because he had nothing planned for today. And, after all, he and Scout were friends.
– Uh... It's twelve miles from Crispy Wings, so... An hour and a half?
Ouch... Sniper definitely had to accept the gas money. Besides, it didn't look like he had much time left to get ready.
– One more thing... You'll have to wait for me... well, until the date is over.
The prospect of it made the gunman a bit sick, but he bravely fought the urge.
– Alright then. Start the car, I'll be right back, - said Sniper with another sigh, longingly following the runner’s back with his eyes. And, leaning over to the pile of clothes on the van floor, finally pulled his jeans out of it.
Sniper had learned to trust his instincts when he'd first picked up his rifle. Now, as Scout slammed the door of his van behind him, the gunman realized it in full scale.
With each passing minute, he more and more regretted agreeing to give the runner a lift. Sniper had participated in the idiotic antics of his colleague before, but only now he felt that he was doing the wrong thing. Because - well, where the hell did this goddamn date come from?!
The gunman had been watching Scout's hopeless courtship for a while now.
The hosting of the five-minute meetings after the matches was tacitly entrusted to Spy, but two nights a month he was replaced by Ms. Pauling, the Administrator's assistant, who usually came to the base with supplies and ammunition. And, on top of it, with mountains of bureaucratic tedium, making Ms. Pauling's five-minute meetings drag on for an hour or two. That's why Sniper preferred to skip them, feeling exhausted after a hard day's work and naturally choosing sleep over corporate bullshit. Besides, if he wasn't mistaken, the meetings were unpaid.
But whoever had enough will to sit out these meetings, it was Scout.
The reason was boring and old as the world. He was a testosterone-fueled youngster, and she was the only girl around. The runner’s desire for her was too obvious, and everybody knew what he was using these meetings for. The way it all went: Scout wouldn't say a word at the meetings, eating the girl up with his eyes, after the end of it following Ms. Pauling to the exit of the residential building, only to inevitably return with another polite rejection. This scenario has never changed. Well, until last night.
And yet, Scout didn't look like he was in love. Nor did his personal failures affect him, otherwise the whole team would have known about it. That was his main characteristic - to voice everything that was on his mind.
Sniper thought for a moment. So what was on the runner’s mind?
"...Yo, Snipes, see these wounds? That's nothing, that guy had it worse. Blue fatso was so slow, he missed not only the point, but three of my bullets!"
"...Don't mess with that mountain of muscle! One at a time, one at a time, jerks! Ladies, control yourselves, you're gonna get yours, too! Everybody wants a piece of me. Wasn't I great today, eh, Sniper?"
"... Can we stop at the bookstore? Stop laughing, comics are lirtr... Lit... Ril... Comics are books, too!"
"...and then - wham! - half-a-Soldier falls out of the teleporter! I wonder, who got his ass?"
"...He says to me after the examination: 'You've got the calves of a real runner,' and I'm like: 'Hell yeah! Whose calves did ya' expect to see here, sir? Ballerina’s?"
Ahem. Apparently, about everything but Ms. Pauling!
And Ms. Pauling herself didn't seem like the kind of person who'd fall for Scout. There was something a little mysterious and dangerous about her that made her seem a bit like Spy. If there was anyone she could have been theoretically interested in, it was him.
Well, there's obviously been some kind of mistake. And the runner should definitely be on his way back now.
When thirty minutes had passed since Scout's departure, Sniper began to doubt his judgment.
He managed to smoke twice, look through all the advertising banners in the area and count all the cars in the diner's parking lot. The van heated up quickly in the sun, open windows weren't enough, and he had to turn on the air conditioner. It wasn't working very well though, so the gunman was still sweating. There was nothing else for him to do.
The numbers on the radio screen flickered, counting down the time.
A painted woman advertising a car wash five miles away was waving at Sniper since he got there. The cardboard limb moved at random, accompanied by a sad creaking sound.
Driven by the wind, a tumbleweed rolled out of the desert, rustled across the road, and then disappeared in the dry bushes on the other side of it.
The radio flickered once more, and the man's index finger met the slightly lagging power button. The speakers immediately exploded with the rattling of a guitar and someone's barking. Sniper turned the music down a little, then leaned back in the driver's seat. A deserted landscape, half of which was taken up by a parking lot littered with faded banners and signs, opened up before his eyes. At the light noise and the unsightly views, the gunman's thoughts swarmed like bees, offering all sorts of ideas.
For starters, Sniper wouldn't say no to a good breakfast. A big plate of everything, with two pieces of toast and a bottle of cold beer to wash it down. The bag of roasted peanuts he'd found in his glove compartment definitely wasn't enough, and it was getting close to lunch. Actually, it was lunch. And Sniper wasn't invited to it.
Hunger didn't put him in a good mood, that’s for sure.
The gunman gloomily eyed the diner. Would it be tactless if Sniper went inside and had a proper meal? And also hurry his colleague up... because this date was already taking too long.
Sniper himself didn't really understand the point of such meetings, sincerely considering them a waste of time. He preferred to skip that point, and bluntly offered his dates to have sex instead. But Scout seemed willing to sacrifice his time. Or was desperate to get some sugar.
The sniper estimated Scout's chances as... H-m-m-m... Whatever.
For some reason he felt uncomfortable thinking about it. Not wanting to concentrate on that thought any longer, he tried to switch his mind to something else, but the sneaky head clawed at it like a cerberus and began to gnaw on it, adding more and more details to the scenario.
What if Ms. Pauling agreed to meet Scout not as a joke or anything else, but because she actually took a liking to him? And they're truly, genuinely enjoying each other's company right now? Like any normal couple, talking about stuff, giggling, holding hands and all that? And all the previous rejections were just a test of endurance?
Oh, God, it is entirely possible…
Sniper saw the two of them sitting side by side as if in real life: Scout cheerfully tells Ms. Pauling some story in the same voice he uses when he lowers it to make himself sound more attractive. And hell, it really works, because the girl turns pink, laughing at the funny passage. Without stopping his chatter, the runner subtly moves closer, just barely touching her thigh with his own. Or, even better, at the most crucial moment of the story, where he is sure to appear in the best possible light, he puts his arm around Ms. Pauling's shoulders, which makes her even more embarrassed.
Listen! How about this: what if the Administrator's assistant isn't as innocent as she seems, and doesn't mind going second base on the first date?
– No-no-no... - Sniper grimaced, gripping the steering wheel like a life preserver.
Yes-yes-yes! What could be hotter than quickie in a public restroom at a roadside diner? Maybe she gets excited by the closeness of other people and the cardboard-thin walls? And is fidgeting impatiently in her chair, secretly contemplating how to drag Scout off to the restroom under some vague excuse? He would, of course, agree, intrigued by the girl's insistence, and it would turn out that the alleged coy girl had planned it all along. There will be the elastic bands of new stockings under the skirt, tightly fitting her slim legs, and - ah! - no underwear!
– Damn it all... - the gunman groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. It didn't help; the haunting vision only grew more vivid, and the pungent mixture of irritation and mild arousal became more intense.
Oh, you haven't gotten to the best part yet! When the red-faced runner moves closer, the impatient fingers will get under the soft cotton of his shirt and pull it off. The cold light of a cheap lightbulb would reveal a healthy, lean body with visibly developed muscles. The soft palms would run along the curve of his shoulders, his sharp collarbones, his flat chest with light pink nipples, and his firm abdomen with a trail of golden hairs. And then, gathering courage, Ms. Pauling's hands would slide under the waistband of his jeans, wanting to get a closer look at what is hidden below...
But a sharp and sudden knock on the stall door interrupts them.
Sniper jumped in surprise, not realizing at first that the sound was real.
Scout was knocking, by the way. On the door of his van.
It took a while for the gunman to finally unfreeze and realize what was being asked of him. Uncomfortably reaching across the entire cabin, Sniper released the lock. While Scout fiddled with the door handle and climbed into his seat, the gunman numbly tried to come up with a coherent wording to find out how the things went. It was only when the runner buckled in, that the man belatedly noted the flaming cheeks and general disheveled state of the young man. Sniper's heart jumped and his head exploded with new thoughts, making him completely forget the prepared question.
But, fortunately, Scout understood him just like that. And, pouting, turned away to the window.
Oh.
Oh, wow!
That doesn't seem like the way young people act after a date. The better for Sniper!
Trying to control his facial expressions, the gunman hurriedly started the car. And, pulling out of the parking to the road, he pushed the gas pedal as hard as he could. He wasn't going to stay here any extra minute.
The desert on either side of the road looked more colorful than ever before, as if a dark film had been removed from gunman’s eyes. Even the sky seemed to be more saturated. The radio now whistled something soft and pleasant, and a warm breeze blew in Sniper's face. The only source of negativity was Scout, who watched the road silently.
He lasted for only three songs. As the fourth, a snotty love ballad, started, the young man lost his patience and turned to the gunman.
– Snipes, is there something wrong with me? - There was so many things mixed up in Scout's voice that it was impossible to tell which emotion he was trying to express first.
The gunman itched to make a snide remark, but the situation demanded his patience and sympathy.
– No, man. You're a nice guy, - Sniper did his best not to sound comforting, - Did something happen?
– Yeah! But at first everything was fine! We were sitting there, talking and stuff...
– And who did the talking, you or her? - The gunman just couldn't resist a little jab.
Scout didn't answer, only gave the man an angry look. The question was rhetorical.
– Alright, I'm sorry. Go on.
The young man waited for a pause, and then rambled on:
– So, we're sitting, everything's cool, I almost got to the most interesting thing, and then she stops me and says... She says that she, well, uh... - the runner stopped and hesitated, as if in doubt about what he was going to say, - Well, tells me... That she doesn't like me at all. And that she's, uh... into girls.
It was delivered with such terror, that at this point the gunman realized he couldn't take it any longer, and exhaled sharply. And then, unable to hold back his outburst of laughter, he laughed with a great satisfaction.
They didn't! They had nothing!!! And they couldn't have had!
So that was the mystery of Ms. Pauling. It must have been hard to make up her mind to take such a step. But there was probably no other non-violent way to get rid of a persistent runner.
Now Sniper felt a little ashamed of what he had fantasized. These things would definitely stay in his mind for a long time to come.
– Why are you laughing?! - Scout yelled angrily, hunched over like an angsty teenager.
– I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... - Sniper wiped away his tears with the back of his free palm, - It's just that you're so... Okay, nevermind. Wait, you're seriously... You didn't know? That this happens?
– Of course not! Where could I possibly… She actually asked me the same thing. And then explained how things work…
Oh. They were both lucky that the gunman was a responsible enough driver, otherwise they'd be lying in a ditch with their bottoms up... This time Sniper didn't even laugh, he snorted like a boar.
– And you... And you sat there and listened for so long? - The man clarified in a hoarse voice.
– Yes, - the young man confirmed with frustration, - And then I got out of there when she went to the bathroom.
– So that's what... You ran away from your date... - Sniper decided to breathe deeply. If he laughed any more, something bad would definitely happen.
The runner hissed.
For a few minutes only the radio made noise in the car, and then the gunman, who was impelled to leave the last word for himself, uttered in as neutral tone as possible:
– Well, at least you learned a lot of new things today...
– Shut up, - Scout snapped, and that was the last word.
Sniper didn't protest. His feelings had been avenged. Also, this idiot still remained his idiot.
Rainbows were the only thing missing in the deep blue sky.