He was crying again.
He didn't even realise it until he heard the choked sob that fell from his lips lamely. Drowned out quickly by the silence of his campervan...
It happened so fast. Two months ago.
The memories still plagued him... His mind, replaying again and again...
"Hey, Snipah' mind hurryin' it up a lil'?! Im' gettin' freakin' mauled ovah' here!" The Bostonian Scout had called out, desperately swinging his bat at the attacking Medic.
Sniper had been aiming, trying to get a clear shot. "Then bloody move! Yer in the way, yah wankah'!" He had called out in response... And he took the shot a little too late. He hadn't seen it before he fired, he didn't see the bonesaw stab into his colleague's stomach...
In fact, he had turned away to snipe elsewhere... It was only after the match he realised Scout was unaccounted for...
"Come back tah' me, Roo... Please..."
Is all the Australian mutters into the darkness. His blue eyes drifting tiredly to the familiar baseball cap and headset he had hung up on the wall, then the framed photo just beneath...
A small tribute to the one he missed the most.