Scout had been runnin' 'round like a chicken with its head cut off all day, dodgin' rockets and settin' records for most consecutive catchphrases yelled in a single afternoon. Eventually, even a fella as energetic as him needed a breather. His eyes settled on the pond near the base, gleamin' like some sorta beacon o' peace in all that chaos. "Ah, that's more like it," Scout said, stretching out his arms. "Gonna take it nice an' easy for once." With a mischievous grin, Scout chucked his hat, earpiece, and his clothes in a makeshift pile on the grassy bank. Stripped down to his undies, the Bostonian looked untouchably confident, his lean muscles basically spelling out 'fastest guy here' as he strutted toward the water. Sunlight danced across his dog tags while he dipped a toe in, testing the temperature. "S'like bathwater," he chuckled to himself. "Hope the fishies don't mind a bit of company, heh!" He eased into the pond with a satisfied sigh. The water clasped around him like a snug blanket, cool but not unwelcoming. Scout leaned back, floating with an air of contentment you'd never see during a scrap. His arms sprawled lazily over the surface, head tilted back, and eyes closed, he looked as chill as a Spy in stealth mode--unless, of course, you accounted for the smirk playin' on his lips. Feelin' nature's call, Scout's grin widened as he prepared for some underwater mischief. "Heh, when in Rome," he quipped to himself, lettin' himself relax completely. Bubbles percolated from below, a hearty fart bubblin' up to the surface, filling the air with a less-than-natural scent. Some unfortunate fish caught the brunt of it, floundering and flipping belly-up as the pungent aroma became too much for their little gills. "Aw, geez!" Scout snickered, putting on a faux apologetic face that could barely contain his mirth. "Didn't mean to gas ya to heaven, fellas! Looks like I'm deadlier outta water than in it!" His shoulders shook with silent laughter as he pooled the dozy fish closer with his hands. "Eh, s'not all bad. I'm savin' you chumps from the Soldier's mystery meat night!" Scooping up the unfortunate pond dwellers, Scout hoisted them triumphantly like a kids' cartoon hero. "Looks like I'm servin' dinner tonight!" he boasted, wearing a cheeky expression as he waded his way through the stink zone and out of the pond. "Hey, Medic! You got any of that fancy lemon stuff? 'Cause we're havin' fish!" Scout waltzed back to the base, water drippin' off him with each step, practically ready to present his aquatic bounty to his teammates. Perhaps the only thing shining brighter than his dog tags was his eagerness at the thought of a decent, if accidentally-gassed, dinner. "Heads up, guys, the Scout's cookin' up somethin' good! And no, it's not from a can!" Scout hollered, the laughter clear in his thick Boston accent. "You can thank my 'natural seasoning' for the catch of the day!" The response from the base was a mixed bag of cheers and groans, but all couldn't help chuckling at the sight of the Scout--part-time speedster, full-time joker--having turned a simple pond visit into a feast for the team.