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The wind was howling between the buildings of the Teufort base, picking up sand and dust from the reddish ground cracked by the heat.
The heatwave had been in full swing for quite some time now, relentlessly tormenting the mercenaries stationed at the base in New Mexico. Driven by a rare act of sympathy the Administrator decided to give her employees a break for a week and now both the RED and BLU teams were able to hide from the scorching sun inside their respective bases for the worst part of the day.
If the weather was the reason for them to have a few days off, then be it – thought to himself Mick, and sipped on his now-stale coffee. Despite not being obliged to, he still came out to his nest to observe the grounds stretching between his own base and the BLU one. He noticed the BLU sniper mirroring his pose in his own sniping nest. They waved at each other and returned to idly observing the terrain; this time not shooting at one another or throwing jars of piss in the air.
It was a little odd, not to be at war – he continued in his mind and took another sip of his beverage before smirking as he put it back on the floor next to him. He had gotten the #1 Sniper mug from the Engineer a long time ago and it never failed to boost his already large ego just a little bit.
With a sigh he got up and stretched, his joints protesting loudly with what Scout would name ‘old man noises’. Despite being only in his late twenties he already had the back of a fifty year old man; hurting and cracking from all the hunching over his sniping rifle he had done over the years. Mick grunted as he sat back down, sprawling his long legs across the floor of his little sniping nest. The sweat beading on his skin made his sunglasses slide down his nose and he adjusted them with his middle finger.
Suddenly his stomach gurgled, and his face tensed slightly. One of his hands involuntarily pressed itself against his groin area. “Ah. Piss time.” He muttered out loud, his voice hoarse and raspy from hours of disuse. He quickly glanced around and got up once again, unzipping his dark trousers and allowing them to loosely fall down to his ankles. With practiced ease he grabbed an empty jar from the floor and he let out a soft sigh as he began to urinate, the pressure on his bladder easing by the second.
“Ew. You're disgusting. Now I know why Spy calls you a filthy jar man.” A youthful voice spoke up from behind him, making the Australian jump up in surprise and nervously whip his head around. He did not expect company. He cursed loudly when he spilled his piss, the warm liquid splashing onto his hand and onto the floor.
“Up. Up up up, above ya, mate.” The voice taunted and chuckled, and Sniper's gaze travelled in the pointed direction. A small figure was perched on one of the wooden beams under the ceiling of his little hideout, and the sight made him curse again.
“Monkey. Bloody hell.” He murmured, twisting the lid onto his jar of fresh piss and trying not to touch himself with his dirty hand as he pulled his trousers back up. “Ye scared me.” He admitted, reluctantly yet truthfully. They had an odd relationship – sometimes they could avoid each other for days, but then Monkey would climb up to his tower, just to sit there with their slightly older friend.
“I know. Now imagine I am a BLU Spy. You'd be looong dead.” Monkey nodded and jumped down from their little spot before tugging their red balaclava off their head. It revealed a tired expression on their pale, freckled face, as well as a mop of dark and unruly hair. Mick's gaze softened imperceptibly, and he placed the piss jar away.
“But ye're not here to tell me tha’, are ye?” His voice lowered, returning to its usual deep murmur. Monkey inhaled deeply, their chest poofing up, before they nodded and leaned their forehead against Mick's chest. The man froze momentarily before hesitantly placing his clean hand on his colleague's back, the movement a bit awkward for him.
“Monkey?” He asked, and he was met with silence. He sighed, and averted his gaze. He had no idea why Monkey chose him time and time again to visit when feeling mentally unwell. He was probably the most emotionally constipated and awkward mercenary on the base, yet she was here. Silent, and exhausted.
“Ah, piss.” The mumble was directed rather to himself than to his younger friend. “Would ye like to watch me shoot? I would need ta wash me hands first, though. Professionals have standards.” He offered, not quite certain what was appropriate to say at the moment. Monkey nodded, and took a step away from their friend. They also seemed to like the idea of having something to do instead of sitting in silence. No matter the state they were in, a distraction was always welcome.
With a faint smile on his unshaven face Mick got down from his nest, intending to at least use some water on his hands. He could be a bushman, but he wasn't that filthy. The entire ordeal took him barely a moment and he soon was on his way to rejoin Monkey back in his hideout.
Boom. The sound of gunshot reverberated through the air between them and one of the cacti outside the borders of their base now stood with a hole gaping through its green body. Monkey's blue eyes followed the bullet, focusing on the distraction.
Mick continued to train his aim on various points around them, and he stopped only when he felt Monkey lean against him. “Hey there, mate. Monks.” He tried to catch their attention, but to no avail. “Boom. Headshot.” He murmured and flicked his finger against Monkey's forehead. Only that pulled them out of their thoughts.
“You know.. I visited the medic again. He was looking inside my head, and he still didn't find anything. Any reason why I don't remember. No answers for my amnesia.” Monkey glanced up at Sniper and the man pursed his lips together in thoughts.
Piss. He didn't think it through. How was he supposed to know how to comfort them?
“Crikey… You know, Monkey, Medic is a reliable man. Batshit crazy, absolutely, but he will find a way to make ye remember.” He settled on saying and he gestured at Monkey to sit down on one of the wooden floor. “‘Ere ya go.” He insisted, and once she sat down he took a seat next to her. His knees cracked loudly, the sound putting an involuntary smile of amusement on Monkey's face. Sniper noticed, of course he did. He did not mention it though.
“Besides, even if ye won't remember, so what? You're a part of the group now. We got ya, right?” He had no idea where the heartfelt words were coming from, but they certainly did not feel like his own. Still, they had an effect on the little thing resting against him.
“Thanks, Mick.” Monkey sighed, the tension on their face slightly fading. As if that was exactly what they needed to hear. They sat in silence, neither of them sure of what to do or say next. Eventually Mick broke the stillness, getting up. He once again grabbed his rifle and approached the edge of his nest, where he began to shoot at fictional targets in the distance. Needing to do anything with his hands, with his thoughts. He stopped only after his bullets went dry, and he once again fixed the slipping sunglasses pushing them up his nose bridge before turning around to look at Monkey.
They were curled up on the floor, Mick's rifle case tucked underneath their head. They breathed steadily, chest rising and falling at a slow and measured pace. “Holy dooley, ain't that something…” He murmured to himself, and smiled softly. Monkey seemed to need this moment of safety to finally be able to rest, without thoughts and worries buzzing in their head. With almost foreign softness in his eyes Mick sat down on the floor, back leaning against the wall next to Monkey, and he closed his eyes as well. “Sleep well, Monks.” He whispered and closed his eyes as well, his body relaxing in the presence of his companion.