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Rep had never been camping in his life and it very rapidly showed. His approach to the tent was to take every single piece out of the bag and the canvas with his spare hand, before staunchly getting down to helping. He was resigned to the fact that the quicker the damn thing went up, the less time he had to spend relying on a woman to help build something. Which in his mind, they were notoriously awful at.

It didn't help that when it came to manual dexterity without hope of any real reward, he had all the attention span of a goldfish. He would pick up a tent pole, attempt to shove it often forcefully into the material, find it didn't want to budge, abandon it and go hazard his luck at some other localised area of destruction. "I don't think this tent has all the ******** bits." He muttered irritably. "Maybe its like ikea where they only give you half the ******** screws and no allen key."

At least the busy work seemed to brighten him up from his utterly dismal mood prior, his mood swings practically whiplash at times. "I had that ******** happen to me once right, I was like building a table and they'd given me bits from a ******** chair and s**t." A tent pin got thrown aside, what the hell were they for anyway?

"So I says to the guy "Whit the ******** man?" and got all like ********' up in his s**t and I must have spooked the b*****d cause I got the right table AND a free ******** chair. It was awesome. I'm a ******** ikea legend right?"

He paused and frowned, giving her a glare for her own apparent degree of competence in putting together the tent. "This must be one of they tents they make specially for women to put up. Cause I haven't got a ******** clue."

It was probably a good thing that he was only really capable of wholeheartedly focusing on one thing at a time, or he might have actually noticed that the background noises he was putting down to the jungle itself were an unfolding argument that might have resulted in some tent rods being thrown like javelins in the direction of Sasha.

"Oh, yes. I'm the one killing him. He's not the one killing himself, Harrison, with each and every foul word that comes out of his mouth, with each bad judgement call that he makes. Oh, no, it's not Rep's fault that he got himself into this predicament. By the way you're acting you'd think that it was me who smashed that little old lady into smithereens, the one who turned on my team. It's like you aren't holding him accountable for the mistakes he's made. The mistakes he continues to make every day. I read the Twitter. I've seen how he acts, how he treats people."

Sasha shook her head. Her eyes were icy. Her grip did not loosen.

"I'm the bad guy now. I'm the one who's killing Rep. Not him. Oh, gosh, that would just be.. that would be a little too much to ask, wouldn't it? So when I'm put in a position where Rep needs something from me - and he approaches acting like the.. the.. the douchebag that he is? Holding my flute over my head like I'm a good little dog who just needs to roll over and submit? Instead of approaching me like someone who's worth at least a little respect? I don't care if he doesn't like me, and I don't care if you don't like me either. Nothing I say to you is going to make you understand. Nothing is going to make Rep stop playing the victim, to make him man up and take some accountability for what he's done - and continues to do."

She gave up her hold on his hand, letting her fingers fall limp.

"It really doesn't matter in the end, does it? My reasons for doing what I do. Nothing I say - aside from 'Sure, Harrison, Rep can have the runics' - is going to make you happy. Well, guess what? Until he and I can sit down and have a conversation about what happened between us? A decent, respectful talk? Rep isn't getting anything from me."

Sasha pointed to the tent with her free hand.

"So can we stop with the temper tantrums and stomping and rock-punching and set this tent up so that we don't die out here tonight?"

"I know how he treats me," Harrison said, almost to himself, turning towards the sorry attempt at a tent.

"He's saved my life a dozen ******** times- fished me off a chunk of ice in Antarctica, watched over me when I was knocked out, dragged me out of that mirror room even when I was crazy and trying to kill him. Mows through swarms of enemies, long as he has someone to keep the short-range off his back. ...He's made for his division. He was trying to do his job."

He didn't pick up anything, didn't try to put it together again.

"Twitter. Name-calling." he mimicked. "If it was professional, they'd see more than that."

"I know how he treats me too. Like s**t."

She stared down at the tent before shrugging.

"Doesn't matter. I've never had a real issue with him before he tripped me. I was happy to leave him alone as long as the favor was returned."

Sasha shook her head down at the tattered mess that was their tent.

"Truth of the matter is, I'm willing to sit down and have a real conversation with him, and that should mean something. To you, to him. It means something to me."

"Maybe if I ask Jerry real nice, he'll come help. I think something might be broken, but I'm not sure."

Sasha rubbed her forehead with her free hand.

"I have a serious headache, too."

Soon a nice fire was crackling cheerfully in the center of the clearing, along with a large set of logs to act as seats around it. Killzone began cracking open coolers full of hot dogs and fixings, s'mores supplies, pans of jiffy pop, icy cans of soda and water. None of this was even remotely nutritious, and back at the facility, Leon was likely running laps to make up for all the saturated fat his comrades were about to consume.

Killzone held a long stick with a marshmallow on it over the fire.

Beside him, only four more roasting sticks remained.

"You guys get yourselves comfortable and grab some ******** grub. Once you bitches are all settled, I'll bring out my special speaking stick."

She gave him a curious look for his rather-insightful logic, mildly impressed and a hint thoughtful at that comment. That look, however, quickly turned sour at his not-quite accusation; narrowing her eyes a little, the ice came back to her stare, suddenly reproachful. Whatever ground he had made was lost in that instant, the death trainee's guard instantly thrown back up, as if she hadn't realized she had left herself so vulnerable. Mentally, Petra cursed herself for it, scolding her lack of attentiveness. She'd known right from the beginning, from that first chauvinistic comment that he had the uncanny ability to get under her skin. She should have taken precautions, but whether it was the jungle which had threatened to kill them painfully at every step or her guilt over scaring the s**t out of him with that snake or the fact that he'd pulled her out of a ditch or maybe that she was just intrigued by how much of an a*****e he pretended to be, she had ignored it. And now he thought she had something to hide.

Had she actually been as intelligent as she pretended to be, Petra would have realized that her hostility, in itself, was likely suspicious. Luckily, however, Rep had seemingly moved on, and the girl relaxed marginally again, her expression smoothing over.

"Glasgow was a city, then?" It made sense why he seemed somewhat lost with the tent. His mention of the phrase 'couch surfing,' however, brought a distinct focus to her attention, an inquisitive look once again resurfacing. She could be wrong; it could have been nothing. But the beginnings of a theory about Rep were starting to form, insight into his person like trying to direct your way through a fog. She wasn't quite sure if what she was seeing was a path in the woods, or a well-disguised cliff on the other side of some brush. Still a little wary, she continued, not quite as nonchalant as her first question. "Our experiences appear poetically analogous, in a way. Opposite ends of the spectrum with ultimately a single purpose: survival."

Had his life been hard? This self-serving exterior a means of self preservation? It must have been, in some way; they were all hunters for a reason, in the end.

Killzone's voice brought her from her reverie, her attention drifting just as readily as Rep's had to the campfire he had begun to roast marshmallows around, the smell of burning sugar wafting through the air towards them. Flicking her eyes to the redheaded's as he glanced at her, she gave him another one of those indulgent looks, the large brute reminding her again of Robert. She had to admit though... all that almost-dying had made her exceptionally hungry. Following close behind, Petra let Rep choose where he wanted to sit, seating herself only after she'd grabbed a few hot dogs, giving him a questioning look as if to ask what he wanted to put on their spit.

She'd long since given up the idea Killzone was going to let them go. They were going to have to share everything, she felt quite certain. There was, however, one thought which had just drifted serendipitously into her mind...

"May we bathe?" she asked the Mr. T look-alike, not quite sure whether or not a 'yes' would please her. On one hand, she was sure Rep would not at all be happy with that idea. On the other hand, she was muddy and sticky and hot and sweaty and covered in leaves. Even if it was just taking some time to splash water on her face, wash her hands, drunk her head in a ******** stream, it might be worth it.

"Sure thing" Jason said as he flattened out the base of their tent. While he had never set up a tent either, he had the general idea of what to do. It was something he could handle; the poles had to be threaded through the canvas, and set up properly so they would not fall over. There was nothing to be afraid about, and his partner was quite cheerful, so he was calm and confident. He directed Jerry when he could, encouraging the other and assisting until they had a perfectly set up tent. The moon hutner couldn't help but smile at their handiwork. "This looks great" he complimented.

At this point, Killzone had appeared with the food. He had not realized just how hungry he was before. "Shall we get something to eat?"

His happy mood was soon dampered when he realized that not only would they have to bathe together, they would have to...

...he was just gonna hold it.