Work Text:
By the time they’ve been together for almost four months, Sniper thinks he’s seen pretty much all there is to see of Scout. He knows what the other man likes (cherry cola and fried chicken), what he can’t stand (snow and oatmeal), what he dreamed of being before the Administrator dragged him into this war (a fireman, or maybe a ball player, if they ever found a player who could run fast enough to compete with him). He’s heard every story, listened to every record, watched every movie Scout swore made him cry. But somehow, there’s always more just under the surface, waiting for Sniper to discover it when he thinks he’s learned everything.
Scout’s rambling, as he tends to, about some letters he got from home. Sniper listens as he towels off the dishes he just washed, “mm”ing and “uh-huh”ing distractedly. It does catch his attention, however, when a faded photo falls out of the envelope Scout is shoving the letter back into.
“Who’s that?” Sniper asks, mildly curious, picking up the photo of a young boy holding a stuffed hawk. “Younger cousin?”
“Nah, I’m the youngest. It’s just an old photo of me my ma thought I’d wanna see – see?” he asks, turning the photo around to show the cursive writing on the back. “'Jeremy and Mr. Eagleton, 1959.' I know, I know, he’s a hawk, you don’t gotta tell me, Mister Bird Whisperer.”
But Sniper isn’t listening. He doesn’t know why, but it’s jarring to him to hear Scout saying his own name. He’s never shared that information before, and he probably doesn’t think it’s a big deal, but to Sniper, it feels as though the whole world has shifted.
“Jeremy…” he says, slowly, and Scout looks up at him.
“Oh, yeah, my real name. I mean, ya probably figured that. Guess I never brought it up til now, huh?”
Sniper doesn’t respond. He’s going over it in his head, this new information, reminding him of a fact that he long forgot – the fact that Scout hasn’t always been Scout, no more than he himself hadn’t always been Sniper. He had a whole life before this, a life where he was just Jeremy. Somehow, it never occurred to him that in all of those stories Scout told him, stories of pranking teachers and running from bullies, there was no Scout. Everybody in those stories, everybody in Scout’s life – his real life – only knew Jeremy.
And not just that – Sniper had nearly forgotten just how young Scout was. He knew that, of course, rolled his eyes at Scout’s childish antics and prom stories along with the rest of the team, but he suddenly felt keenly aware of the fact that he was nearly twice Scout’s age. That Scout was still in the prime of his life, wasting his time with a middle-aged man who gets paid to shoot people and piss in jars all day.
Scout is still talking, recounting his adventures with Mr. Eagleton, and Sniper shakes his head, trying to shake loose the feelings of shame and inadequacy that suddenly plagued him. Scout pauses his story, looking at him with mild concern, but Sniper forces a smile, and Scout smiles back. He goes back to his story, but it suddenly sounds flat to both of them.
They’re lying in Sniper’s bed that night when Scout notices Sniper hasn’t immediately dozed off like he usually does. Looking up at him, he sees the older man staring at the ceiling, a troubled look on his face.
“Hey, Snipes, you okay?”
“Yeah, just… been thinking about some things,” Sniper says. Scout waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
“What kinda things?” Scout asks, looking expectantly at Sniper, but the other man remains silent. “Come on, spit it out, I ain’t gettin' any younger over here,” he jokes.
“Thank god for that,” Sniper says quietly, almost to himself.
“Wh – is that what this is about? You’re seriously worried about the age thing?” Scout asks, surprised.
“Listen, Scout, it’s just…” Sniper sighs. “Don’t you ever think I’m too old for you? That you could be spending this time with someone more like you?”
“Okay, first of all, that’s stupid as shit,” Scout says. “I don’t wanna be with anyone else – I wanna be with you. Second, what would it even matter? Not like there’s anyone my own age I can relate to any more than you, doin' what we do for a living. And not like I needa find someone to grow old with, ‘cause, well-“ he pauses, realizing that was the wrong thing to say.
Sniper’s face is stony, mouth pressed firmly shut. When he swallows, Scout can hear the lump in his throat, and it hurts Scout as much as his own words must’ve hurt Sniper.
“Snipes, listen, it’s okay,” he says, bringing a hand up to the Sniper’s cheek to soothe him. He feels the wetness on his fingers, and brushes the other man’s silent tears away with his thumb.
Neither of them says anything, and then Scout says, quietly, “I’m okay with it, you know.” Sniper squeezes his eyes shut, unable to look at him. “Aren’t you?”
“Scout,” he croaks, voice strained. “Course I’m okay with dying – but I can’t…” he pauses a moment, trying to find the words. “I can’t think about anything happening to you. God, I’d die a hundred times before I’d let anything happen to you.”
“Come on, you’ve already seen me die a hundred times, ya big baby,” Scout jokes, trying to lighten the mood, but Sniper only curls further into himself, arms squeezing tighter around Scout. “Hey, I’m sorry. That wasn’t funny. But Snipes?” Sniper meets his eyes, hesitant. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me. Promise. Cross my heart, long as you’re around, I won’t do anything that’d get me hurt.”
“Scout-“ Sniper starts, ready to tell him not to make promises like that, but Scout cuts him off with a soft, chaste kiss.
“You and me, Snipes, we’re gonna grow old together.”