In Need of Assistance? (TF2)

Five: Just Sitting Around and Talking

        The water pools at my feet, swirling down the drain and taking the filth along with it. My eyes stay trained on the floor tiling.

Last night couldn't have been real.

I feel cleaner, but that doesn't necessarily mean better. I woke up completely drenched from head to toe in canola oil. The freakier part is that I remember seeing Pyro holding a match. What happened after that? There's just no way in hell. Maybe I just sleepwalked and dreamed up all of that crazy stuff, but there is absolutely no way that Pyro was about to set me ablaze. What did I ever do to him to cause him to act like that? Pyro definitely has enough self-restraint to not torment his teammates in the dead of the night.

Does he at least not consider me one? That sucks if that's the case. Hurts to think about, that I'm not considered a colleague. There's a reason not to blame him as I don't feel like a teammate, either. I turn the faucet until the water stops flowing and run my fingers through my wet hair. I get spooked by a figure on the other side of the glass. The door is fogged up, so I wipe it with my hand, the figure vanishing from sight. I shudder and cover myself with my towel, unsure of what just happened. Am I seeing things? I'm being absolutely crazy. Did the shrink the Administrator send me to miss something? I am, for sure, going nuts. The rudeness, I can deal with. The blatant murder-vendetta? At the very bottom of my Christmas wishlist. I'm unsure if I want to continue working here. It'd be such a waste of time and could stain my record if I quit so early. Is the resumé padding really worth more than my safety? I'm pretty sure I die if I quit anyway. There's no winning in this situation, is there?

It had to have been just a nightmare.

I exit the shower and shudder in the chill. I don't feel like I'm alone anymore. I try to get dressed as quickly as possible, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. It makes me feel grimy again, on the inside rather than the outside. The kind that you can't wash off. I'm not bothered by being exposed, not as much as the next person. It's more of the fact that the bathroom is supposed to feel safe and private. I stare in the mirror as I brush my teeth, observing the tile walls behind me to look for any discrepancies. I can't tell if I'm being cautious, borderline paranoid, or both. I spill some water on my slacks and the toe of my oxford heels. I groan, drying it off the best I can, left with darkened spots that'll take a while to fade. Upon exiting, Soldier makes me jump with a yelp as he slams his door open and sounds off with the most aggressive "Good Morning!" I will ever bear witness to. He begins to hum Reveille equally, if not more, aggressively.

My old clothes flop onto the floor. I hastily attempt to pick up before Soldier has the chance to comment on it, but his bare foot lands on my t-shirt, a squelch emanating from the oil leaving the fabric. I look up and see his hyper-widened bug eyes glowering from under his helmet. Does he sleep in the thing? He simply has on a muscle shirt and boxers right now, so why would he put on his helmet while on his way to go wash up?

"This is absolutely ridiculous!" He roars. Hey, why not a little louder? I don't think Sniper was able to hear you from his tower. "Why would you be clothed when you're lubing up for war?"

"What." I squawk.

"Everyone knows that you have to be naked when rearing up for a skirmish! I personally prefer honey, but oil works just as well."

My jaw hangs in awe. Is this a conversation I'm having right now? I better say something. "Oh, it was just a test run! I'm not sure what I want to use... for battle y-yet. Uhm... Can I have my shirt back?"

He lifts his foot and watches me pick up my things. "If you ever need suggestions, I have tried various techniques and methods for optimal warfare combat. Vegetable oil is for beginners, and I'm sure you're too advanced for that."