Chapter Text
His mum always said it was the little things in life that mattered the most.
Sniper never paid that saying any mind - given he wasn’t much of a sentimental fool to begin with. Mush stories simply didn’t appeal to him, not even as a wee ankle biter scratching out an existence in the bush. He simply didn’t care about those goofy feelings his mother always prattled on about, finding himself more inclined to standing apart from them like his father than embracing them. After all, bleeding hearts didn’t survive in the Australian wilds - at least not for long - hence why he spent a majority of his formative years grinding down all the soft spots within himself to make room for something else entirely. Something hard and jagged.
He’d almost pride himself over that accomplishment alone, that he’d grown into a self-sufficient survivor like the countless others that came before him.
Yet his mothers words still poked through on occasion, especially on mornings like this where he sat hunched over the breakfast nook table, nursing a piping hot coffee mug between both hands.
He’d just barely roused before the sunlight crested over the Teufort base, eyes still bleary and thoughts still foggy save for the gentle caress his mum’s voice always carried, ‘It’s the little things in life that matter the most, love.’
Blinking didn’t dispel those thoughts, nor did a rough shake to his head. Instead it only sharpened his senses that much more, tuning them towards the overwhelming smell of bacon spreading throughout the camper; the rhythmic swaying motion coming from the other occupant by the counter, who belted out what could only be described as an off brand version of a Tom Jones song.
Normally such things would have irked the bushman - especially this early in the morning! The crooning definitely would’ve earned on him a shout, or a firm glare that’d make even the hardest merc think twice before continuing.
But not now.
Not when it was Scout rocking on the balls of his feet, using the spatula as a microphone between the moments he needed to turn over their breakfast.
Sniper hadn’t expected him to do this, to stay the night after pissing the hours away talking about nothing (or more precisely letting Scout talk about nothing while he merely listened), only for the brat to wake up ten minutes before his own internal clock went off to “rustle them up some grub”.
It’d been strange to hear the younger man offer to make anything given his proclivity to dodge the chores wheel like he’d somehow dodged the draft. Yet here he stood, seemingly in his own element as he finished his little dance number and platted them up with a heavy helping of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. The combined smells nearly knocked Sniper sideways, having to forcibly clamp his jaw shut to keep the drool from spilling over.
It smelt divine.
Better than that even! Just the sight alone made him question why he never bothered using the seasonings in his cupboards to begin with.
A crooked grin stretched across Scout’s face, tutting the other man when he finally laid the spread in front of him. “Looks like someone woke up with an appetite. Can’t say I blame ya, my ma’s recipes kick serious ass.”
It certainly looked like it.
The bacon still sizzled beside the cheesy scrambled eggs, Sniper damn near plunging his fingers straight into the mess to start shoveling it down his throat. The only thing to stop him was Scout’s infectious laugh and the utensil shoved under his nose.
“Yo man, ya might wanna give this a try. It’s called a fork.”
Sniper nearly opted to forgo any sense of decorum, his stomach rumbling something fierce in protest. But the chuckle stopped his hands dead in their tracks, as did Scout’s insistence when he slotted the long end between the other mercs fingers. It took the older merc a second or two to process what had happened, and another to keep up with Scout’s sudden launch into conversation… that he quickly found himself left behind in.
In fact, he didn’t have much to say at all once the food finally hit his tongue; firing off several thoughts at once.
The first being the texture and placing it as scrambled eggs and cheese. The second questioned what the hell else had been added to it?
Salt for sure rested at the forefront, with pepper sprinkled somewhere in between. The rest took a few more thoughtful chews to distinguish, picking out cumin, oregano and possibly mustard seed tossed in, but he wasn’t completely sure what the crunchy bits were.
Slowly swallowing the bite, he startled some when Scout leaned forward on both elbows. He flashed an expectant smile, waiting to hear what Sniper’s reaction would be. A reaction, the marksman thought, he couldn’t hide even if he tried.
“Weeeell?” The younger merc pressed, “whaddya think? Good right?”
Sucking on his teeth, Sniper tried to decide if ‘good’ was an appropriate description. But with the brat staring at him with those pleading baby blues, his body practically vibrating in its seat, waiting with bated breath for an answer, the hard edges that made up the mercenary’s personality softened just a little (or perhaps they’d never been hard around Scout to begin with).
He scrounged the energy to slap on a comically forced smile, washing the strange flavors down with coffee as he gave what could only be described as an agreeing grunt.
“Ya damn right it’s good. Ma could throw anything together and it’d be the best shit you ever had. She could make cardboard taste good.”
“You don’t say.”
“I do say! Just gotta throw all your seasoning into it and BAM! Can’t taste nothin else. Man, wait till I make you her everything-soup! You’re gonna love it.”
Sniper wasn’t sure about that, but the fact the speedster kept beaming and talking and planning future meetups didn’t seem to give him the willies like it normally did when others tried to include him in an event. Instead, he almost looked forward to it, especially when he threw in the offer to bring the booze if he’d let him come back to cook.
Which, if Sniper were to be honest, didn’t sound like a bad offer at all. Not when the other man’s face brightened that much more once he got the approval. “Dude, you are gonna eat so good when I’m done. That soup lasts for weeks. Weeks, man! But don’t go tellin no one about it. Those knuckleheads will demand I make it all the damn time and I don't cook for just no one, ya know.”
“O-oh?” Sniper paused mid bite, watching the way Scout shoved in another mouthful before nodding.
“Yeah. Ma’s recipes are special. Like… like whatcha call it?” He snapped his fingers trying to dig up the right word, as if the sound would call it to mind. “Like, uh… comfort food! Yeah, comfort food or whatever. She’d make these dishes when we were strapped for cash, which was like, all the freakin time. But we’d get together and make these big ass batches and she’d tell us to keep adding more spices to make it really good, so that’s what we did, my bro’s and me.”
A glaze seemed to sweep over Scout’s eyes, and for a moment Sniper could picture the memory with him. Crowded together with several squirming bodies, all of which clambering on stools or each other to help prepare what would essentially be enough to feed a small army. It reminded him some of the few times he’d helped his mum prepare jars for preservation season.
It’d been during those times she’d talk about her bygone days. Of the whirlwind romance with his dad - who would always turn away with a huff, trying, and failing, to hide the pink tinting his cheeks.
Sniper had been annoyed back then, hating the tenderness in which she spoke. But now… now he could see the same gleam in Scout's eyes as what had once clouded his mum’s. The same dreaminess rested there, reliving the experience when they spoke and the younger man was letting him experience it, too, through the stories.
Sniper was eventually brought out of that realization when Scout stood, chucking his empty Bonk can into the trash and heading to his backpack to retrieve another. He scrounged about for a few seconds, cursing under his breath when nothing but some lent and an old movie ticket rested at the bottom of the pocket.
With a growl he zipped it all back up, asking if there was anything besides that nasty bean water he could drink.
The wrinkle in his nose only grew more pronounced when Sniper pointed just over his shoulder, earning a gag, then a scoff when his eyes landed on the piss jars. “You can't be serious.”
“There’s straws in the drawer iffn you’re wanting some.”
He wretched, waving his hands frantically with, “dude!!!” and “what the hell?!” flung in for good measure.
The sight of him floundering on the floor turned whatever annoyance that’d been bubbling up to disappear entirely, a genuine chuckle coming out of the otherwise stone faced Aussie.
Shaking his head, the marksman reached down for a pullout drawer just beneath his seat. Without thought he tossed a six pack of bright green cans straight into the others lap, chuckling under his breath, “Here, ya goddamn mongrel. Stop ya belly achin already.”
Scout just barely managed to catch the cans before they went smashing against his groin, juggling the few that had come loose from the plastic rings binding them all together. It took several more seconds to realize what exactly he’d caught, or had chucked at him, staring hard at one can, then the others, the puzzle pieces slowly slotting themselves together before his mouth twisted into its usual lopsided grin.
“Eh YOOO! When did you get these? Ya tellin me you’ve been holding out this whole time?”
“Not really.” Sniper kicked the compartment shut, turning towards the food (that’d long since gone cold). “Picked ‘em up last week. Figured you’d be back to talk me ear off and all, so just…”
He shrugged, lifting the mug to his lips as a means to end the conversation.
Which went just about as one would expect when Scout leapt up, cans cradled against his chest, “Well shit, man! I didn’t know you cared so much.”
“Oi never said I di-“
An arm snaked its way around his neck, drawing his face flush against the younger merc's side and smack dab into his armpit, jostling Sniper so much he spilt most of his coffee all over the table.
“Heh, I knew you was a straight up dude. Couldn’t fool me none with that Oi’m-a-big-scary-wild-man-I’m-gonna-skin-ya-alive bullshit.”
“Mmmgmmmfffmmm!”
“Yeah yeah, don’t deny it, Snipes. I got ya number. Admit it, you like me.”
“MmmMMMM!!!”
Another good mumble was had until the older man finally squirmed his way free, both hands gripping the others hips to keep him from making any other moves. Surprisingly, he stayed put (though the smirk he wore suggested there might be another hug in store).
Steadying himself, Sniper gave the speedster a solid don’t-you-try-that-again glare before relaxing his grip, his retreat against the seat's backrest stopped when spindly fingers ran through his hair. His brows shot up, nearly touching his hairline as Scout grazed his nails along his scalp.
The sensation felt alien. Almost intimate in a way that, honestly, he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. At least not before his questionable career choices, or his recruitment into the Gravel Wars. In fact, he couldn’t even recall when the last time someone had ever touched him without malice lingering behind the intent… or when he’d allowed it.
Yet here he sat, the protest that’d once danced on his tongue swallowed up as he stared into those big blues once again.
If anyone were to ask, he’d have said he didn’t lean just a little bit more into that touch. He most certainly hadn’t thought about where else those hands could’ve ventured, or toyed with the idea to reciprocate the tenderness soaking into his skin.
No.
He wouldn’t be saying anything of the sort.
Scout, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. His grin widened, boasting that he must really like it if he hadn’t pulled away yet.
Curling his lip, Sniper went to shove the other with enough force he’d have flung him clean through the wall, but Scout had anticipated this - or at least knew well enough in battle how to dodge a close range attack. He sidestepped, then redouble his efforts into properly tussling the Aussies hair.
“You’re the best, man. I hope ya know that.”
“GET OFF ME YA MANGY DRONGO!”
The speedster did as told, taking his seat without further protest. Sniper did his best to ignore the chipper, almost giddy excitement radiating off the younger man; focusing more on keeping his face pointed down and cleaning up the coffee spill without the other seeing just how greatly that action had affected him. If Scout noticed he never said so much as a peep, offering instead a can to the marksman as a sort of peace offering for the coffee. It dangled just under his nose, shaken slightly to properly garner his attention and, with one of those infectious chuckles, made any and all irritation fizzle away to the back of the sniper’s mind.
That laugh always seemed to do that, smooth away the wrinkles that normally pinched at the Aussies' brows.
“Yer a right bloody bother.” He sighed, eyeing the Bonk suspiciously.
Scout only brushed that comment aside, as he usually did, setting the drink by the nearly empty mug with a scoff, “Please. I’m a fuckin delight and you know it. Why else ya keep letting me come over if I weren’t?”
He didn’t know. Truly, it remained one of Teufort’s biggest mysteries.
But watching the other merc pile the soiled dish towels together, tossing his arm back to make and hooting in victory when he made the throw into the hamper seemed well worth it. He’d not had much excitement during his usual breakfasts, or any until Scout invited himself over every morning.
And, if he were to be honest, he didn’t mind this arrangement at all.
‘It’s the little things in life that matter the most.’