Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hello! This is a note directly from the author. I'm Crow! :D

This fic is a love letter to my greatest fixation yet, hit 2007 FPS game Team Fortress 2. I wanted to explain some things about my TF2niverse and give y'all some disclaimers.

In my canon, the mercs do respawn after being killed in battle. RED and BLU have secret headquarters/ bases separate from the battle maps. These bases also differ from the factory fronts that RED and BLU have set up in canon, as they're more of a hub for the mercs specifically. The bases contain a lobby that will teleport them directly to the arena chosen for battle. They have small aboveground fronts and much larger underground operations containing showers, locker rooms, a mess hall and kitchen, multiple workstations, and shared dormitories for resident mercs. Not all of them live in these bases; in fact, most of them commute to the hq.

Every morning the mercs report to the hq, do what they need to, then report to the lobby at a certain hour to be teleported to their battle arena for the day. From there, they spawn in the spawn rooms (unexpected, I know) and duke it out from there. :]

As far as disclaimers go, I do have fun describing the violence of it all, so there is detailed gore and violence in this fic! There will be warnings in the chapters containing blood and gore. If requested, I might even rewrite some of the gnarly chapters to be vague on the gore.

Similar vein as above, this is a sniperspy fanfic that will be including smut. These scenes will be well contained so you can read and enjoy without needing to read these chapters. I'll keep a running list of chapters with warnings in here. There will also be warnings on these chapters. :]

Feel free to leave comments, critiques, or requests! Enjoy the read :D

Chapter Text

          Under cover of a chilly New Mexico night, a little 70's Porsche pulled silently into an unlit driveway. Its round headlights had been dark for a while, as dark as its near-matte window tints. The car was utterly pristine, not a scratch, flaw, even a smudge inside or out; quite the contrast with the man that exited the vehicle. He was a younger man, maybe in his early 30s, with a scruffy face and an underbite. Tanned skin underlined his eyes, eyes that were narrowed, almost cruel, casting blame on anything they laid on. A permanent scowl had etched itself into his face. He carefully hoisted himself from the car, gear belt softly jingling and clanking. Beneath a hard and tense brow, his eyes scanned the suburban area as he made his way to the door. A nimble hand clad in a thick mechanic's glove slipped a key in the knob, turned, and let the man inside in one fluid motion.

With the flick of a lightswitch, soft white light came to life above his head. It illuminated a neat, almost brutalist interior. Living room on the left, with a dark and angular couch and a modest tv set. Dining area on the right, a little single seat bistro set beneath a small window (he would never have visitors, why waste for more seats?). Behind that, a kitchen, modern for it's time. He wasn't the best cook but he could hold his own. Then a hallway straight ahead, leading to a bedroom and bathroom that lay behind a closed door. Small but not cramped, and cleaned to a fault. Again, of great contrast to the man himself, who wore grease-stained overalls over a dirt-smudged shirt. He sighed softly, finally relaxing behind his locked door. His gloved hand pulled a tin cigarette case from his pocket, and, after a moment of fiddling with it, he was engulfed in a cloud of smoke.

The overalls and tools and grime gave way to a precisely pressed pinstripe suit. His figure lengthened in the fog, face morphing and changing, now thinner, more gaunt, and hidden under a deep blue ski mask. His eyes, though, stayed hard as ever, steel blue under a tense brow. His hands were wrapped in satiny gloves now, and they reached up to straighten his tie (work habits, you know). The smoke dissipated, and beneath it was the Spy, hired mercenary for BLU. Never was there a less trusting man. But, in the comfort of his home, he could finally unwind as himself. He pulled his mask off and began settling in.

Soft piano jazz wafted from the record player as the spy began his routine, humming along. Gloves came off, into the blazer pocket, then the blazer buttons were undone, tie loosened. He had started removing his work watch as he made his way to the bedroom. He let himself in and froze mid-step. Something had been left on the bed: a little tv monitor. It was rectangular, bulky, and oak brown with a soft grey screen and metal knobs, almost humming in the dim light. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle in the uncomfortable realization that someone had been in his house. He took so many precautions, from deadbolts to commuting in disguise, but someone had still found him and made it in. He knew exactly who that someone was, and, despite his initial shock, he wasn't surprised at the appearance of the device. Regaining his tact and slipping off his blazer, he finished getting comfortable at his usual leisurely pace (he wasn't going to rush just for the Administrator's sake), then took up the box, placing it on his desk and sitting before it. He took a breath, rolling his eyes at the thought of dealing with work responsibilities off the clock, and pressed the power button.

A flash of light appeared on the screen, quickly replaced by hissing static. He watched it for a moment, arms folded in impatience. The image of a lady, merely a silhouette, came through the static. As the image became clearer, he could make out a perfectly coiffed hairdo, a slender neck and shoulders, with a matching hand holding a smoking cigarette. A slight envy came over him at the thought of a smoke. Over the tinny speaker came the Administrator's commanding, currently sarcastic voice.

"Very kind of you to finally join us, Spy."

"Mademoiselle, " he bowed his head slightly in respect, "I cannot say I am excited to talk work while off the clock."

"Understood. This won't become a regular occurrence, I just have a special task to assign you. I found this method of delivery to be the most efficient."

"Go on, then."

"You know well that you are one of our most competent mercenaries. I would like to assign you a target: one of RED team's best. He seems to pose a more...continuous challenge to our team. There is money in it for you, of course. Can't have you without your incentive."

She paused a moment.

"We would like you to focus on taking down their Sniper."

The sniper...the caffeine-guzzling, piss-chucking sniper? Up close and personal? The frenchman's face contorted with disgust, entirely subconsciously. He avoided killing that man for a reason. He coughed to clear his throat and hopefully diminish the look of distaste he bore.

"Madame," he spoke, hesitantly, "I have no doubt I could take down that filthy man, but I must know...why me in particular?"

She tutted her tongue and the spy could see her shadow move side to side, shaking her head. He swore he could hear a smile as she spoke.

"Now spy, it's simple. You can breach their defenses and make that kill clean. I'm surprised you asked for clarity. Are you implying you don't want this assignment?"

A sigh from him.

"Non, madame, I do. I just like to...stay as far from that bushman as I can."

A soft chuckle from her.

"I'm quite sure. I will take that as acceptance of the task. If you could just leave my portable screen out on your doorstep tomorrow, I'll send Ms. Pauling to pick it up."

"Oui, madame. Adieu."

"Have a good evening."

The image on the screen compressed and fizzled away. The spy was left looking at his own dejected reflection in the crackling plastic. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh, standing to continue where he left off. As he cooked, ate, and cleaned up, he devised various plans to make quick work of that jar-pisser. With one day to observe and track his habits, he'd undoubtedly know just how to best him. It would take two days at maximum for first kill. Two days tops to kill the RED Sniper.

Chapter Text

          The bright, burning New Mexico sun was just touching the horizon as a dinged-up camper van rattled to a stop at a gas station pump. She was an old Jeep Willys in army green, kitted out with a camper extension out back. She had certainly seen better days, but she was by no means unkempt. The engine slowed and stopped with a purr. Tugging the handle and shoving the door, Mundy grunted as he climbed out of the driver's side, awkward and gangly, straightening his hat as he stood. Large, orange lenses rested on his sun damaged face, etched deep with wrinkles by his nose. Beneath the lenses were eagle's eyes, his most valuable tool of the trade. They surveyed the area around him. Mostly red sand and rock, sparse dark green brush, and a few trees and mountains in the far distance. The endless sky above the landscape was the perfect canvas for an incredible sunset. With a deep breath and shifty eyes, a habit of the often hunted, he made his way to the little convenience store by the pump.

The tarnished bell above the door welcomed him in with a twinkling ring. The store was a little cramped, chock full of chips, canned meat and soup, items with long shelf lives. Not a single fresh fruit to be seen. The walls were beige, the shelving tan, the trim brown. Accent designs and signs on the displays were colored in muted oranges, reds, and browns, the technicolor tones of the 70s. The clerk at the counter looked up from his book and flashed a smile at the customer. His bushy white eyebrows and mustache seemed to have stolen the hair from the top of his head. Mundy returned a polite smile with a slight wave. He made his way through the aisles, picking up only the barest of necessities. Just to replenish his tower for the next coming days.

Onto the counter tumbled a few bags of chips, protein bars, a good few bottles of water, and a few bags of coffee grounds. Enough coffee to last any regular person at least three months, but Mundy was no regular person. For the RED Sniper, he'd be surprised if it lasted three days.

"G'day. This here and five on the pump. Just a top-off today."

"Evening," said the clerk, in a light southern accent, taking a bottle to ring up. "Been a minute since I've seen ya here, Mundy. How's that job goin'? Keeping busy?"

"Busy enough, but I'm too good," he chuckled. "Startin' to get bored."

"Oh, jobs have their ups and downs like that. 'M sure it'll pick back up for ya soon. Must be more exciting than doing this all night, anyways."

Mundy grunted in agreement with a little hm hm chuckle as the cashier pressed a few buttons on the register. A rustle behind the desk produced a neat paper bag for the sniper and a little receipt for the gas. He took them both with a nod.

"It's lookin' like a nice, cool night tonight," said the clerk, glancing at the door. "Takin 'er to sleep under the stars again?"

The gunman smiled.

"Oh absolutely. 'Preciate it, mate."

"Have a good night, now."

Ambling through the door and back to his camper, the sniper had his eyes on the horizon. It was truly a gorgeous sunset tonight, bright orange fading to a deep purple, dappled with clouds in reds and yellows. He should best enjoy it at a little secluded spot where he sometimes parked to sleep, an abandoned building left to rot. Used to be a hardware store, but with nothing for miles around, the lack of business caught up to it. Made a fine hideout for him though.

With his groceries situated and gas tank full, he was climbing back into the driver's seat when his eyes fell upon something in his passenger's seat. He tensed in the face of this invasion of privacy before realizing what it was: a portable tv monitor. He knew exactly what that little box meant. He sighed and groaned softly to himself, shifting in his seat to begin the drive. Bloody brilliant, he thought, searching his pocket for a spare cig. Turning the key in the ignition, the Willys shuddered and growled alive. Best get to the lot and see what that all's about.

The drive was serene, a soft chill coming in through the window, though not enough to extinguish Mundy's cigarette. He hummed to a poorly tuned radio as he went, just a handful of miles from the convenience store. He turned into a small parking lot beside a run-down building a little after the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon. It was getting good and dark when he parked the Jeep and situated the little screen on the camper's center console. With another groaning sigh to himself, he hit the power button. A flash of white, then static for a moment. He puffed on his cigarette as the Administrator's silhouette appeared.

"Mundy," came her voice over the little speaker, "finally you call."

"G'd evenin', Administra'or. Jus' gettin the van ready for the night. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I'll keep it brief. I have an assignment for you, being one of RED's best mercenaries, we want you focusing on a...troublesome member of the BLU team."

"Sounds exciting. Who's it gonna be, then?"

"The Spy. We trust you can catch him before he infiltrates and wreaks havoc on our base."

This certainly had the sniper's interest. How does a long distance sharpshooter target a close-range, backstabbing, often invisible target? The man smirked slightly, intent on figuring it out.

"Oh, that ol' spook's had it comin'. I won't let ya down, miss."

The Administrator nodded a bit, taking a drag from her cigarette.

"I'm sure you won't. Leave the screen on your passenger's seat when you report tomorrow."

"Will do. Have a g'night."

"You as well."

And the screen flashed and fizzled into static once more. The bushman was left thinking. He thought as he stepped into the camper, as he undressed and got ready for the night (he'd shower at the hq tomorrow. Camper life). He pulled on a pair of gag boxers from Tavish, red plaid with "kiss my arse" written on the back, and fell onto his bed, bouncing a little on the creaking mattress springs. He picked up his bushwacka and fidgeted with it, twirling it in his hands as he thought. It wouldn't take long to get that prissy frenchman. He'd take a good day to garner some knowledge on him, watch his fighting habits, ask around about him. Two days, he thought, two days max. Two days tops to kill the BLU spy.

Chapter Text

          On that dark night, in a dark office at some undisclosed location, sat the Administrator. Surrounding her were at least 30 screens of varying sizes, lining the wall before her, up towards the ceiling. They were all dark at this time of night. A small desk lamp gave her a halo of light, highlighting the sculpted wrinkles of her face and the flyaways in her meticulously styled hair. She seemed exceptionally human in light such as this. A slender, nicely manicured hand reached towards a small red button on the control panel, and hovered there.

"Have a good evening," she told the spy, into the microphone, before pressing the little button and ending the communication line. A beat of silence, satisfied sigh, and a drag from her cigarette followed. She pushed her seat back, leaning forward on her hands, listening to the silence that enveloped her. The office was always so quiet at night. The whisper of sleeping machinery was all that could be heard. There was always an electricity in the air to be felt, but right now, the Administrator felt something else, too.

"Hello, Ms. Pauling."

The young lady behind her startled a bit. She had come in so quietly, as she always had, and still the Administrator had known. As she always had.

"Uh, hello, Administrator, good evening. I was checking in to see if you had finished with the assignments just yet. I thought it would be done earlier than this."

The Administrator sighed, leaning back in her chair, turning towards Ms. Pauling ever so slightly.

"You and me both. Damn the French and their...work/life balance. Spoiled rotten, if you ask me."

"So you've just finished? And they both accepted?"

The Administrator rose from her chair and turned to fully face Ms. Pauling.

"Exactly as I expected, yes. The spy begrudgingly, and the sniper with about as much enthusiasm as he can show. It should keep them busy enough to keep the fight balanced." She started walking and motioned towards the door behind Pauling, who straightened a little and fell in step beside her. The desk lamp flickered off.

"And you don't expect a sort of RED Demo/ BLU Soldier situation to happen? No unlikely friendships?"

A closed-mouth chuckle came from the Administrator as she took a drag from her cigarette. She exhaled the smoke with a little laugh. The door to the office whirred closed as they passed through the frame.

"Highly, highly doubtful. I paired them for that reason, Ms. Pauling; the spy is so uptight and orderly about his...everything, and the sniper is the exact opposite of that. Pitting a borderline germaphobe against the man known for chucking his own urine at his targets? I'm surprised I hadn't thought of it earlier."

Down the empty hallways, the heels of their shoes clacked in sharp succession against the tiled ground and echoed off the walls. She continued.

"The sniper is too competitive, too interested in a challenge to back down, and the spy? Too prideful. He knows he's good at his work and an airborne jar of urine isn't going to stop him. Neither will stop until they win. It's foolproof, really."

Pauling thought for a moment and nodded. They had made their way to the main entrance of the office building and were approaching the door. She spoke as they stepped into the cool night air.

"You've truly thought of everything. They're such polar opposites that they could never get along."

"You've got it."

The Administrator gave her a small smile. Ms. Pauling was one of the only people to get a smile out of her.

"You have a good night now, Ms. Pauling. Until tomorrow."

Pauling offered a smile back in the warm, buzzing light of the streetlamp overhead.

"Have a good night, Administrator."

Chapter Text

          The jangle of alarm clock bells woke the spy just as the sun began peeking over the horizon. With a deep breath, already sick of being awake, he heaved himself out of bed, reaching awkwardly out to turn off the ringing. He took in the silence for a moment, then stretched in place, his arms high in a futile attempt to drain his body of grogginess. He relaxed once more, stepped into a pair of slippers, and shuffled to his bathroom. The light flickered on and he was met, blinking with a grimace in the sudden bright, with a tired looking man in the mirror. His chin was already uncomfortably stubbly and scratchy. It hadn't even been two days since he last shaved. His furrowed brow was present even now, to the point of causing a little crease to form between his eyebrows. Upon noticing this, he relaxed his brows and rubbed at the spot between them with his thumb, much like someone rubbing a spot of chocolate from their cheek. With a soft groan, he made a mental note to relax his brows more.

In the lightening dark of dawn, clad in his morning robe, he brushed his teeth, shaved, and washed his face. His still dragging feet led him to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. As it brewed, the spy turned on his music, some light string and piano jazz, and picked up a fresh newspaper from the ground by the door. He was finally feeling more awake with the smell of coffee and the sound of jazz in the air. The memory of the assignment from the Administrator floated into mind. He might consider employing the assistance of his coworkers to distract the sniper some, just enough to see how he acted and reacted. Only if he truly needed to. It would be a few more hours before he'd report to BLU headquarters for his shift today, and he would spend that time getting dressed, enjoying a pastry and coffee for breakfast, mulling over his plan to best the sniper, and commuting in disguise. Unbeknownst to him, his target was going through his own little morning routine.

          A good few miles away, in an empty parking lot by a long abandoned store, there was an old Jeep camper tilting and shifting. Inside, the sniper had been awoken by an absolutely cacophonous alarm clock (he slept like the dead, anything below that wouldn't have woken him). He shuffled towards the little sink in the back of the car and pulled the chain for the lightbulb. In the dim lighting he could see the tired man in the mirror, with deep eyebags and an expression of "I'd much rather be asleep". He eyed the stitches running across his chest and down his torso with disdain, shaking the emerging thoughts of disgust from his head before starting to brush his teeth. As he did, he ran through a mental catalogue of thoughts; should he shave? What to wear today? What to eat? What to do about the spy? His assignment had slipped his mind overnight, but with some fresh air and good, strong coffee he'd devise a plan to nab that spook. Ooh, speakin' of coffee...

He prepped and started a pot of coffee on a portable electric pot, pulling on some actual pants and preparing a jarate as it steeped. He took a deep breath of that fresh coffee smell, exhaling with a satisfied mmmgh. He would enjoy this one in the brisk morning air outside. He filled a colorfully doodled-on mug, a gift from pyro, to the very brim and took a careful sip as he unlocked and opened the camper door. A minute later he had set up a lawn chair facing the sunrise and sat comfortably in it, with a pleasant smile and a steaming coffee mug.

Mundy spent that last half hour before his commute to the RED base outside in his civvies, thinking passively of employing the help of his coworkers to get a feel for that close-quarters backstabber. A glance at his mug made him think the pyro's flamethrower would make for a good detection tool; even that snake can't cloak his way out of being on fire. He would definitely need a lot of jars in the coming days, too.

After about an hour's drive from his preferred lot, the sniper's camper sputtered into a different lot, by a little red shack of a store this time. It was wooden, rustic, and looked entirely unoccupied. This is the RED mercenary report base, or the above-ground front for it, at least. Mundy shut off the van after parking her beside Dell's little pickup and stepped out onto the asphalt. Slinging a duffel bag onto his shoulder, he locked the van and, with a habitual glance around him, walked on into the shack. It was dimly lit inside, mainly through a couple small, dirty windows. There were two aisles of empty shelves, covered in a silty dust, and a cashier's desk with a bulky register on the left, just past the door. The sniper waded through the airborne dust with a cough, approaching the register and typing a sequence of numbers with the register's keys. With a press of the 'enter' key, the register chimed and a panel of the wooden floor shook with a rumble and slid open. It revealed a smooth, clean, off-white tunnel with a ladder heading down underground. Mundy grunted in approval, situated his duffel bag securely on his back, and crouched to start heading down.

The sniper's boots hit the pinkish, tiled ground with an echoey smack. He stretched for a second, relieved of that long climb down, and turned to face a ridiculously long-winded hallway dotted with doorways on the left and right, with one more at the very end. The place was clean, almost sterile in feel due to the bright white lighting and empty, white tile walls. He adjusted his bag and started towards the first door on the right. He could already hear some talking as he approached the dorms; it sounded like Dell and pyro were chatting it up. No surprise, as Dell was often the first to arrive and pyro practically lived at the base, not to mention the two of them were near inseparable. That flamethrower would make for a real efficient spy-checker.

Through the first right-hand door he went, presented then with a much smaller corridor. Showers in the room to the left, urinals to the right, and the dormitories dead center. The door to their quarters was ajar, and that was where the voices came from, quite jovial for how early it was. They had stopped upon hearing the door open, ears listening to the sudden silence that hung in the air. A curious gas mask peered around the door.

"G'day, boys," said the sniper, breaking the silence his presence had caused. "How are we this fine mornin'?"

The masked maniac bounced on his heels with the arrival of his friend. Mundy gave them a smile, offering up a hand for a high five. He wasn't much for hugs in the early morning. Pyro had been taught well to hold back some, as a big, strong hug was their preferred greeting. He clapped happily and ran in for a good, strong high five with a joyful cry from behind his mask. The sniper chuckled and and followed with a rewarding pat on the head.

"Buenas, Mundy," came the engineer's voice from the room, "Livin' the dream, y'know how it is, heh heh. It's s'posed to be an easy one today, 2fort style."

Mundy grunted in agreement and gestured towards the bedroom door, to which the pyro nodded with an mmph! and made their way back inside. The sniper followed, just poking his head around the door.

"Sounds awright. Listen, Dell, the Admin assigned me to focus on downing the spook, so I'd expect he's comin for me just as much. I'd keep an even closer eye on your mechanics than usual." He directed his attention to the pyro again. "That goes for you too. I'd like your help in spy-checking around me."

Pyro perked up at the attention on them and flapped his hands happily, immediately followed by clacking his heels together, standing at attention and saluting the sniper with such enthusiastic form it would have made their soldier proud. This earned them another chuckle and nod from the aussie.

The engineer met his eye and nodded. "I appreciate it, padron."

Another contented grunt from the bushman before he turned and made his way to the showers. Just because he pisses in jars doesn't mean he has to smell like it; he had considerably good hygiene. Stripping himself of his civvies, he turned the knob and shuffled under the weakly-pressured shower of cool water and began to lather up.

          It was around that time that the little Porsche pulled into a parking spot by a run-down hardware store. It was a rigid stone structure, serious and boring, grey and blue all around. A muddy boot appeared out from the driver's side door, followed by the BLU Engineer: the spy's preferred commuting disguise. His eyes, however, stayed hard and tense. When he had to act he could mimic the engie's caring, almost worried expression perfectly, but off the clock? No need. He slid a small suitcase from the passenger's seat and set it down on the sandy asphalt beside him. From the trunk he pulled a tarp, and made rather quick work of covering the car with it. Grabbing the suitcase once more, he made his way towards the corroded door of the hardware store. He opened it and passed through, ignoring the dusty aisles in front of him as he skirted the cashier's desk on the right, stopping before the clunky cash register on it. It clacked loudly, struggling through rust as he typed in a string of numbers. A cheery ding rang out, the perfect tune in contrast with the dust-laden air, and a panel of the concrete floor shook, scraped, then slid open. Below it was an off-white tunnel, just barely tinted blue, leading down with a steel ladder. The spy wordlessly moved towards it, and, with a careful grip on his suitcase, began the descent.

Now at the bottom, he began the walk to the recreations room. He had about a half an hour until report time and he intended to use it to read the book he was currently in the middle of. As he walked, he pulled out the cigarette tin and deselected his engineer disguise. A dense cloud of smoke enveloped him, even as he walked, and when it dissipated he was left in his neatly ironed suit, complete with a wide-brimmed fedora, tilted forwards. His dress shoes, protected by ivory colored spats (they matched the shirt beneath his jacket), tapped softly on the tile below. He heard a couple voices passing the dormitories and workshops, and a couple more that turned louder and more emotive as he turned left into the third door down the hallway, into the rec room. The shelving to the left of the door held multiple board games, puzzles, and decks of cards to use on the mercs' off time. Along that wall were some moth-bitten armchairs, a small round table, and a bookcase at the very back; his intended destination. Between him and his morning reading material, however, was a pool table, and, just beyond that, a foosball table with a detachable top to turn it into a ping-pong table. Currently it was a foosball table that trembled and rattled, aggressively operated by the BLU sniper and soldier. The very loud BLU sniper and soldier.

"HA HA HA HAA!! How does that LOSS taste, Sheila?!"

"Oh piss off, helmet, it's best two out of three!"

"That sounds like sore-loser SISSY logic to me!" The soldier puffed his chest out in mockery of the aussie across him, a triumphant smile on his face. He caught sight of the spy walking in.

"Good morning, Frenchie!"

How they had this much energy so early in the morning, the spy would never understand. The sniper, hunched over the foosball table, turned just enough to meet the spy's eye. His glasses and wide-brimmed, showy cowboy hat were askew. He seemed truly annoyed at his loss.

"Ello. Foosball's occupied if you were lookin' for it." He grumbled in an almost aggressive tone. 'Sore loser' is right.

"Please," scoffed the frenchman, "I'm only passing through for a book. You may continue your very loud early morning match of foosball, preferably after I've left the room." He continued towards the bookshelf as the sniper scoffed right back.

"As if we need your bloody permission," he snarked. He huffed as he turned back to the soldier, attempting to regain his composure. "How's about that rematch, ya piker?" He stood up straighter and retrieved a scuffed ping-pong ball from his goal.

The patriot grinned and laughed evilly, all but rubbing his hands together in conniving preparation for another easy domination.

"You're gonna wish you left it at the FIRST loss, cupcake!" He hunched forward and grabbed the handles as the ball dropped with a little tok onto the table, and the ruckus began again, immediately.

The spy groaned and picked up speed, retrieving his book from the shelf and making his way back out the door, walking through a cloud of yells and insults on the way. A left into the hall, past the mechanics workshop and the mess hall, then a right into the locker room. It wasn't his favorite place to be, as it smelled constantly like forgotten sweaty socks and barely controlled body odor, but it was quieter than the rec room right now. He opened the door to find the room already occupied, by another seeking a quieter reading spot like him; their Demoman. He was an older man now, peg-legged with a greying beard, but with how quickly he charged and swung a battleaxe on the field you'd think him barely 30. He looked up from his own book and smiled slightly in greeting.

"Good morning. Escapin' those screechin fools too, are ye?"

The spy returned a small smile, tired behind the eyes, and replied with an affirmative mm. He didn't mind their demo's company. On a nearby bench he sat, joining the comfortable silence, only broken occasionally by a clang in the workshop next door or a particularly agonized yell of frustration from the bushman. Here they sat and read until a few minutes before round preparation began.

          "TEN MINUTES UNTIL TRANSPORT!" came the Administrator's booming voice over the RED base speakers. Mundy had finished showering and getting ready, and had spent the last chunk of time sharpening his bushwacka in the base's gunsmithy. He started out the door of the workshop, spinning and swinging his newly sharpened steel, as a flash of red and a high pitched squeal bolted past him, stopping the bushman in his stride. Nearly knocked his bullet-adorned hat to the ground. Squeaking sneakers and a jeering voice trailed from the blur.

"Watch where you're goin', snipes!"

The sniper retorted in shock with a weak, defeated agh and simply started walking again. He was maybe halfway down that long-winded hallway before hearing a certain Scottish cyclops scream down the ladder chute. Every morning that punk (literally!) tried jumping to the ground from further up. He landed hard, rolled with the momentum, and laughed wildly as he jumped up on his feet. Mundy turned to look at him and raised his machete in a friendly wave. The demo perked up with a happy ah! upon seeing the aussie and jogged up to meet his pace.

"Guid day, mate!" greeted the scot in a terrible Australian impression, throwing an arm around the shoulders of his teammate. Mundy met him with a proper "G'day!" and a hearty pat on the back as they approached the lobby doors together.

          The BLU spy's own version of camaraderie was emerging now. As easily irritated as he was, he became more agreeable once given some time to relax in the morning. He and the BLU demo's quiet reading time was now cut by the entrance of their heavy and engineer. Their friendly conversation trailed off into chuckles upon discovering the pair hiding from the ruckus outside.

"Privyet, Demoman and Spy. Fighting begins soon."

"Aye. I'm just about ready."

The spy nodded a greeting and offered a slight smile as he and the demo stood and prepared for the fight, stashing the books in their lockers and grabbing their supplies. The heavy and engineer joined them in this, suiting up and grabbing their smaller weapons from the lockers. Larger weapons were usually kept in the lobby itself for ease of access. Armed with their chosen melees and secondaries, the four men filed out of the locker room to wait in the lobby. They ran into the scout and pyro on their way out. These two were much calmer than their RED counterparts, at least off the field. The scout lit up at the sight of the engie, who smiled warmly upon seeing him and opened his arms for a hug. He accepted excitedly, jumping into the hug and squeezing for a moment. The two had formed a familial bond over time. Greetings were exchanged and the two walked into the lockers while the older gents turned towards the lobby. Conversations of culturally traditional music and current reads struck up, joined again by pyro and scout shortly after.

          "FIVE MINUTES UNTIL TRANSPORT!" blared the speakers. The RED lobby was surprisingly calm at the moment. The lobby itself was just a concrete room, empty besides three bleacher-style benches in the middle and a rack of larger weapons along one wall. The scout shouldered the door at full speed, throwing it against the wall and screeching to a halt a little down the way. He posed upon stopping, holding out his arms and brandishing a decorated red and yellow baseball bat.

"And that is how it's done!" he said triumphantly, to everyone, although no one in particular seemed to notice. The spy, sitting at one of the benches, did look up from inspecting his rather large revolver to flash a quick smile and thumbs up. Their soldier, who usually supported the scout's antics, was currently very focused on scratching an American flag into the concrete wall using a safety pin he'd found on the ground. The heavy was busy straightening and detailing the pyro's cat-eared hood, who thanked him with a few happy claps and an excited hug. Misha reciprocated with a light chuckle and pat on the back. The medic stood nearby, pulling on his gloves that carefully covered up the glittering gold band on his left ring finger. On the bench by the spy sat the engineer, polishing his home modified pipe wrench. The door was just recovering form the scout's intrusion as the demo threw it again with a hearty Good morning, laddies! Various friendly waves and greetings came in reply. The pyro jumped in excitement on seeing the sniper again, taking up their compact flamethrower and gesturing towards the sniper with an enthusiastic mmh!!, to which Mundy gave an encouraging Yeaahh!! and a cheerful pat on the head. The scout, nosy as ever, commented on this.

"Wha's that all about?"

"Ah, just a task I've got pyro helpin' me with," the sniper replied, looking at him, and then addressing the room in general. "I'll probably have a spy houndin' me more than usual, so I'd keep an eye out for that."

Engie nodded with a thumbs up, a danke from the medic, a half-hearted yeh from the soldier, still scratching away at the wall. The scout cocked an eyebrow still.

"And how d'ya know that?"

"Message from Admin," he shrugged, eyeing the pyro who was now playing with his bushwacka. The demoman piped up.

"Oooh, special orders! What'd ye do ta deserve the honor?"

Mundy chuckled, shrugging again. "Who's to say. 'M happy for the challenge, though." He placed a hand on the pyro's arm as he spoke, since they'd become a little too enthusiastic with the machete. The pyro conceded and handed back the blade with a nervous muffled laugh.

          "ONE MINUTE UNTIL TRANSPORT!" crackled the overhead speakers in the BLU base. All but their sniper and soldier had reported to the lobby. The spy, heavy, and demo had been chatting it up some, and were now making their way to the weapons rack to take up their larger weapons. The scout and pyro had been listening to the scout's handheld radio, which he clipped to his belt to start stretching. Pyro stood as well, ambling to the rack to grab his backburner, humming along to the radio. Engie and medic were troubleshooting their weapons, exchanging them every few minutes to get a second opinion.

WHAM! went the door, flung open by the back of a cackling soldier who was currently being choked out by the enraged sniper, stopping any activity in the lobby immediately. A handful of the mercenaries jumped in surprise at the sudden entrance. The spy groaned and rolled his eyes, a shared sentiment with the heavy and medic, one who shook his head and the other who scowled, respectively.

"YOU TAKE THAT BACK YOU BLOODY MONGREL!!"

"I WILL NOT-- ACK- TAKE BACK-- THE TRUTH!!" The soldier sputtered through choked laughter, his face nearing the shade of his uniform shirt. The engineer and heavy met each other's eyes and nodded, visibly disappointed, making their way to the brawling boys.

"YOU MOTHERF-- OOFH-!" The soldier had swung his leg forward, firmly planting the sole of his boot into the torso of the aussie with a dull whop!, which made him release the arm's-length chokehold for a split second. It was just long enough for the heavy to grab him by the armpits and pull him up and back, away from the soldier, while the engineer did the same, stabilizing the soldier as he swayed on his feet from lack of air. Never once did he stop laughing.

Even in the air the sniper reached and flailed, yelling every curse and insult in the book. The demoman snickered at this display of uncontrollable testosterone as the spy grabbed the sniper's bow from the rack, pinching the bridge of his nose. The pyro spotted this and did the same with the soldier's launcher. At this rate neither of them would get to them before teleportation. On the engie's call, the scout helped hold the soldier upright as he tried to mediate the situation.

"Now, Theo, what in hell's name warrants this kinda behavior?"

"HE SAID I'M AS BAD AT FOOSBALL AS I AM AT SNIPIN'! HE SAID I MARRIED A KANGAROO!!"

A beat of silence, followed closely by barely concealed snickers and cough-laughs rang through the lobby after the confession. The soldier roared with laughter once more, tipping backwards on his heels while the scout held him in place, still trying to regain his own composure from a fit of held-back laughter.

"DON'T EGG HIM ON!!"

"Now boys, TJ," started the engie again after swallowing a quickly stifled chuckle, "you know he don't mean that, it's just friendly competition talk." He turned to the soldier. "Johnny, why don't you-

"TRANSPORT BEGINS IN TEN SECONDS!"

"Dagnabbit. Look, we'll talk this all out after the fight, alright? Gotta focus now, son, take yourself a breath."

With this, the sniper's arms fell at his sides and the heavy slowly lowered him until he stood on the ground. He took a deep breath and exhaled with a growled huff. The soldier let out one last chuckle and the sniper gnashed his teeth at him with an rrrgh! The engineer whipped his head around and shot a glare at the soldier.

"Hey! You too, solly. C'mon, now."

There was a rustle of clothes as everyone prepared for teleportation. Theo took another breath and sighed his exhale.

"Now, ain't that better?"

"FIVE!"

A grunted agreement from the sniper. He started towards the spy, who held out his bow. There was a jingling of metal, clinking of glass, a chorus of guns being loaded and cocking.

"FOUR!"

He snatched the bow from the spook, with a strained "Gimme that," to which the spy sneered.

"THREE!"

The sniper shouldered his bow and met the spy's eye. He felt a twinge of guilt.

"TWO!"

"...'preciate it, mate."

The air in the lobby grew tense with the synchronized inhalation of the entire team.

"ONE!"

Chapter Text

          The cacophony that followed transport was nothing short of magnificent. The empty rooms sat silent one second, then were instantaneously assaulted by nine screeching mercenaries the next. Both RED and BLU spawn rooms rang out with battle cries, curses, jeers, and screams of vaguely demeaning motivation. The doors whirred open and the boys all scattered to their preferred battlefields. Mundy followed his scout out onto the balcony and watched him jump once, then twice onto the bridge, screaming with glee and brandishing his bat. The sniper ran to his usual corner and began setting up. He set down his jarate, then situated a little coffee pot and some candies on a nearby crate. He often kept licorice and cinnamon candies on hand to help focus and cover up that terrible coffee breath. He extended the antenna to a handheld radio and tuned it to a local soft rock station with a little smile as the music started. The gunshots were beginning below him. The sounds of sentries and dispensers being built, Tavish belting a war cry, a scout being bludgeoned to death. What a job it was.

On the BLU side, their spy was watching from the ground floor of the battlements. Currently disguised as their engineer, he ran from one side to the other, pretending to scope out the best place for an offensive sentry. He knew, in fact, that his engineer was creating a little nest in their intel room. He also knew that the sniper wasn't completely set up yet, marked by the absence of a clunky scope aiming at him from the tower across. He would watch from afar for now, then move in closer to catch the close-range side of things. Their soldier ran past him in full sprint, screaming, closely followed by their pyro who dived into the moat below the bridge. There were more screams, gunshots, explosions. The spy poked his head out and watched his soldier get blown apart by the enemy demo's grenades. The demo retreated though, clutching his arm. Seems Johnny did some damage before getting killed.

whzz- BANG!

"Merde!" he choked out, reeling back in shock as a bullet barely missed his head, nearly falling to the ground with the force of his recoil. He panted a moment, trying to calm down. That damn bushman was up and running. He couldn't peek from the same place now, he knows there's someone there. Granted, not him in particular, but someone. As he considered where to assess from, a red blur appeared right in front of him, stumbling for a second with a squeaky scream, then charging with the baseball bat he held. The spy yelped in surprise, dodging one, two swings, then getting hit with hollow metal across his left arm.

"Ha-ha!! Take that, hardhat!"

The spy groaned in pain and frustration, drawing his revolver and pulling the trigger one, two times. The first he missed, the second he caught the scout in the shoulder. As was the nature of his disguise, the visage of their engineer fell away upon shooting to reveal his true self. The scout started back with a surprised, pained cry, and drew his shotgun.

"Oh it's a freakin' SPY!" he spat, taking aim and pulling the trigger, spraying him with leaden buckshot. The spy grimaced from the pain, but pulled the hammer back once more and shot again, two times, one bullet embedding in the scout's forehead, and the other drilling directly between the scout's eyes. They left ribbons of bright blood and flecks of flesh in the air behind them, splattering the walls and floor. His eyes rolled back and glazed over, and from his open mouth came one last gurgling sound before he stiffened and fell forward. The spy huffed, unfazed, and sprinted to the stairs as quickly as he could, torso laden with bullets and his arm fractured at least. The pain was kicking in. He hissed through gritted teeth, slowing down as he made his way up the stairs, and was met with the smiling one-eyed face of the RED demoman. The spy cried out in shock, bringing his gun up to aim, but that time had been enough to detonate the stickybombs on the wall directly to his left. The explosion was deafening, but worse than that was searing pain of shrapnel now running through his side like a raging fire, only for a moment before he felt the skin of his arm split open, then that of his abdomen, burnt and torn apart by the blast and the metal. He shrieked in pain, feeling his arm dislocate from its socket, feeling the muscles disconnect and tear, snapping into loose strands, excruciating, unbearable. He fell to the ground, sputtering and gasping. The last thing he heard was the hearty guffaw of that demo, towering over him, saying with a smile, "Die like the snake y' are." Then all was dark...

          "I'M GONNA FRICKIN' KILL THAT GUY!!" roared the RED scout, darting from the respawn room to the balcony, promptly jumping off towards the BLU tower. The sniper wordlessly watched him from his little corner, took a sip from his thermos and picked his rifle back up. All that running, he thought, pulling the scope to his eye and taking aim, when you could just...

BANG!

The high scream of a medic rang through the open space beneath him, closely followed by the booming "DOKTOORRR!!" of the heavy he had been healing. He racked the gun, held his breath again, moved mere millimeters from his prior position, and fired again. The dying scream of the heavy this time. The sniper pulled back from his rifle and slunk behind the wall. "I swear they make it easy on purpose," he chuckled to himself. From his periphery he saw their pyro approaching, mumbling something beneath their mask. The sniper smiled and raised a hand in greeting, to which the pyro waved happily and promptly shot a fireball in his direction. It sped towards him, then right through, as any of his team's shots would. He didn't know how, surely some technology the medic and engie, maybe the Administrator had a hand in, but it never got old. He could feel the warmth of it as it passed through, dissipating upon hitting the wall behind him. No spies here.

"Thanks, mate!"

"Mm--"

whzz

"--MMGH!"

The pyro jumped and fell back, holding his leg, stumbling to hide behind a wall. From their knee jutted an enemy arrow. Adventurer, no more. "Oi!" shouted the sniper in enraged shock, taking his rifle and aiming quickly towards the opposite fort, as the pyro scooted towards the respawn room. Another arrow came whistling by, planting itself two feet from the sniper's head in the wall behind him. "Oh you're just bloody awful, ain'tcha..." he whispered, finger twitching on the trigger. Another hairline adjustment and he pulled it. The shot rang out, and then the echoing scream of an aussie. Mundy watched him fall limp and collapse forward with a smug smile. "Nice try," he grunted, pulling the rifle down again.

The BLU spy slunk back behind the wall of the balcony, having watched this exchange very carefully. So, he thought, you care about your coworkers that much? Hm. The idea of being so emotionally close to his teammates that he was willing to retaliate so quickly was indicative, to him, of a weak point. Already, a strategy appeared in mind; backstab the pyro, disguise as that mumbling maniac, and go in for the kill. A simplification, sure, but a strategy nonetheless. He'd also noticed the spy-checking from the pyro. It seemed to have been premeditated, judging by the greeting and response from the sniper. So he had already asked for help, and would very likely be spy-checking anyone near him himself. That did make things a little harder. He'd have to strike quickly. The BLU soldier jogged out of respawn and took notice of the spy thinking in the corner.

"Get to the field, maggot!!" he barked. The spy turned quickly to look at him and say something, but faltered a moment. If the sniper wanted help from his friends, the spy would do the same.

"Ah, John, could you do me a favor, s'il vous plait?"

Beneath his helmet, an eyebrow raised. This was unheard of for the spy, asking for help? He was intrigued.

"...depends on what 'see voo plett' means."

"I..." the spy stared blankly, "...it's just 'please' in French."

"Well, how polite! Call it an alliance. What can a good American soldier do for ya, Frenchie?" he beamed.

"I was told to focus on the RED Sniper. I need to observe how he works with a close-quarters fight."

"Ha! Say no more!" The soldier took up his Air Strike launcher with a wild smile on his face. "Watch, and learn!"

He bolted towards the balcony, picking up an impressive amount of speed for a man his size, and blasted a rocket at his feet, propelling him into the air as he let out a battle cry. The spy peeked around the wall to watch. Down the bridge he ran, and the sniper became increasingly panicked, watching through the scope and failing to down him in time. He drew his machete as Doe rocket jumped once more, off the edge of the bridge canopy. The bushman swung in vain as the soldier brandished a folding shovel in midair and brought it crashing down on his skull. It crushed his forehead and the bone of his nose, and the sniper could hear the sickening, wet smushing and cracking of bone and cartilage from inside his own head. The skin bruised and burst apart almost immediately, spraying blood in fine particles and arching displays into the air and across the walls. Before his body had even hit the ground, the soldier had laughed triumphantly and started running in the opposite direction, into the RED fort to cause more chaos.

The spy retreated behind the wall once again, lost in thought. So he has his rifle and his machete...but what is his secondary? He was sure the sniper knew of the assignment already, in fact, it was likely the Administrator had assigned them to target each other...so why would he hold back on using his secondary? Unless he knew I was watching and had kept holstered so as to not spoil his loadout. But his options are limited, it could either be a smaller gun or...The spy's brows tensed and his eyes grew wide. "Salaud," he cursed under his breath. He was certain it was jarate. He staggered on his feet and bumbled into the respawn room, almost falling to the ground, stricken by the realization that he would no doubt be doused in urine in the coming days. He sat on the floor, leaning on the wall, thinking through a minor cloud of panic. I could bring an umbrella, he thought desperately, but it would be cumbersome to carry for the entire fight...a protective suit? Non, that's a death wish in this heat...

As the spy went through his minor mental break, the BLU medic respawned by him. He noticed the man on the floor and twitched away in momentary instinctual flight. He watched the frenchman rock in his seat for a moment.

"...are you unwell, herr spy?"

The spy replied without looking up. "Only mentally, oui."

Ludwig looked at his medi-gun for a moment.

"I don't know if I can heal zhat."

A welcome chuckle bubbled out of the spy. He shook his head a little and sighed. "Ah, tres bien. The engineer might help, oui?"

The medic gave him a small smile. "Ja. He is better with minds." With that, he left the respawn as their scout began yelling for a medic. The spy exhaled heavily, grunting as he stood to leave and cloaking as he left respawn. He made his way towards the intel room.

          Mundy had just reappeared in the respawn room. He leaned against one of the walls and thought for a moment. He had seen the spy watching him since the match began. In fact, he'd missed that first shot just to scare him. It would have been easy too, he thought, chuckling to himself, bloke was standing still. Easy to tell it was him, that BLU engineer damn near never showed his face outside. He wouldn't be so kind the next time around...bugger, he grumbled, gotta keep my jars closer. Couldn't reach em in time to get that bloody soldier. Much to mull over. But with that last retrospect, he readied his rifle and made his way to his little corner. On his way from respawn, though, he heard beeps, then shots from Dell's sentry below, and then, chaos. There were mere milliseconds between "I am fully charged!", "START RUNNING, BABIES!!", and the cacophony of gunfire from every side. He heard a string of spanish curses from his engineer, and despite his better judgement, equipped a jarate and sprinted down the stairs as fast as his lanky legs could carry him.

At the foot of the stairs, the blue blur that was the enemy scout passed him by, legging it for the intel room. The sniper turned on a dime, aiming his jar with an "oh no you don't," and chucked it as hard as he could, grabbing his bushwacka with his now free hand. The jar hit the scout square on the back, breaking and dousing him in coffee-fueled urine. God, it stunk. He froze. He screamed. The scream of disgust turned quickly to bloodcurdling shouts of pain as the sniper drove his blade into his spine. It broke through cloth and skin as if it were wet paper. Deep red began to spread from the gash, overtaking the blue of shirt. Mundy braced, tensed, and plunged the machete deeper with a hard grunt. The cracking of bone was audible. They splintered and scraped together, blood gushing from the wound at this point. The very tip of the blade was ripping the front of the shirt, having torn directly through the scout's sternum. The body slumped to the ground, a fizzling groan slipping from his pale lips. With a self assured grunt of pride, Mundy gripped the handle of the blade, placing a boot on the small of the scout's back, and tore it right back out with the sickening wet suction of flesh. Maybe the spy was onto something after all; that backstabbing stuff was kinda fun. He hightailed it to the front corner of the battlements where the engie had set up his nest. Everything had long been destroyed by that rotating monster of a gun, even the engineer lay limp on the ground by it, more blood outside his body than in. Bloody shame. But he caught sight of the medic's back heading further into the RED base and took action. Propping onto a knee and leaning, he aimed his rifle to the back of the doctor's head and-

-fell forward, glossy-eyed, with a gurgling exhale. Or, his head did, at least. Severed and bleeding brightly, it fell to the ground with a heavy thump and rolled off to the side, leaving the headless body to drop his gun and fall limp after it. The BLU Demoman shouldered his axe with a laugh. "Gotcha, ye bloody campin' weasel. Stay in yer tower next time!" he chortled, running after his team.

          In the BLU intel room, the spy and the engineer were having a delightful conversation. Starting from getting the smell of urine out of clothes (in preparation for the spy's likely encounter with it), the chat had carried on to fighting techniques, all the way to the best of their culture's cuisines. The BLU spy wasn't the greatest conversationalist, but his engie was kind, patient, and more than willing to help with that. He had calmed the frenchman from his prior anxieties about the sniper with reassurance and understanding. They were so entangled in their current conversation, however, that neither of them heard the footsteps coming down the stairs.

The RED spy had managed to convince his scout to enter stealthily, with the promise of being today's captor of the intelligence, as if he struggled with that on the regular. But the allure of the spotlight was something Jeremy could not pass up. The spy signaled to the scout to stop and wait for a second, then disguised himself as the BLU pyro. He waved girlishly at the scout, who could barely snort back a laugh. The spy chuckled back and centered himself, prepared to enter the room. With a deep breath, he stepped in.

The far corner had been completely decked out with a level 3 sentry and dispenser. He looked up at the engineer and spy, who looked back. The BLU spy waved as the engie smiled warmly.

"Howdy, cowpoke. What brings you down here?"

"Mmmhf mggh mmnm!" replied the RED spy, in a perfect replica of his own pyro's speech.

Instantly, the faces of the BLU engie and spy tensed. The spy drew his revolver, and the engineer his shotgun. It felt like the very air had been sucked out of the room.

"You wanna run that by me again, little buddy?" The voice of the engie was dark and serious.

The RED spy faltered and fidgeted, hesitantly repeating what he had said before. The RED scout, having poked his head out to watch from a blind spot, watched in abject horror.

The loud cock of a shotgun, the subtle click of a hammer, then lead propelled through the air with an eardrum-shattering BANG. The disguise of the BLU pyro melted away instantly, leaving the corpse of the RED spy limp across the room, thrown back by the force of the bullets, peppered with buckshot in the abdomen, and leaking blood from a larger hole in his forehead. The scout held his position, shocked, silent. The BLU engie and spy looked at each other and laughed.

"C'e un connard, that idiot RED spy. Doesn't even know who he is disguised as. Imagine not knowing your enemy can't speak!"

"And to think he thought I wouldn't know!" The engineer laughed back. "Me and pyro go-"

Within a second, there was an electrical whir, a strange whoosh, then the crackle and fizz of a sapped sentry, downed before it could even aim at the RED spy behind it.

"Putain!" the BLU spy yelled, whirling around, revolver drawn. "Dead ringer!"

"My sentry! You doggone-aAUGF!"

With their backs turned, the scout had seized the opportunity and swung at the engineer, striking him in the back of the head with his bat, quickly following up with a shot from his shotgun to finish the job. The BLU spy shot and shot again at the RED, who returned them the same. With a couple shots from the scout, the life drained from his body and he crumpled to the ground, lazily oozing blood from more holes than they had time to count. There was a beat of silence as the RED spy and scout realized their plan had gone through, then they laughed. Jeremy made his way to the briefcase as he celebrated.

"Yoo dude, I didn't know your little watch could do that!! I was all 'oh shit bro,' I thought you were a goner!"

The spy chuckled back, through the pain of a couple revolver body shots. That BLU spy had hit him twice during their duel.

"Yes, the dead ringer is very unassuming, but she comes in very handy, no?"

The scout agreed, his hand hovering near the handle of the suitcase.

"You ready to run for it, pally?"

"Let me take the medkit outside, oui. Remember, you run it as fast as you can, I'll hold off anyone who tries to get to you."

"Pshh, I got it, go!"

The spy rounded the corner and picked up the medkit just outside the intel room. It worked like a blast from the doctor's medigun, swirling up his arm and into his abdomen, and he could see and feel the bullet holes shrink and close completely. Even his suit was patched and cleaned. He took a deep breath, feeling damn near brand new.

"Tres bien, let us move!"

In one swift motion, the scout had grabbed the suitcase and bolted, with the spy hot on his heels. Through the air rang the voice of the administrator.

"Alert! The RED team has taken the intelligence!"

"Go, go!" encouraged the spy. Up the ramp, through the little storage room. They had just surfaced from the underground room and were crossing in front of the BLU spawn room as the door whirred open. From the room ran the BLU soldier and pyro, who faltered with being suddenly face to face with RED enemies. The soldier released a roar of a battle cry, aiming his launcher at the spy, who froze in place to distract him.

"Go, Scout, don't stop!"

"PYRO!" yelled the soldier, turning towards his teammate. "GET THAT SCOUT!!"

The pyro saluted and ran off after him as fast as he could.

"Now, you-" said the soldier directing his attention back to the spy, or rather, where the spy had been not even a second earlier. He ducked, stepped away, and whirled around in a panic, finger on the trigger, just in time to see the spy miss a backstab.

"You damn COWARD!" he spat, firing a missile at the spy, who just barely dodged it. The force of the explosion sent the spy reeling to one side, and, thrown off balance, he collapsed to the ground with a pained grunt, landing on his back. Quickly he tried to get up, but a heavy boot came down upon his chest with such force that it knocked his head back against the ground. Pinned, barely able to move, all he could do was struggle and bare his teeth.

"You're gonna wanna stay down for this one, sister," chuckled the soldier maliciously, pointing the launcher directly at the spy's face, but he was distracted by a whirring behind him. Before he could turn around all the way, a barrage of bullets blew him off the spy, tearing his very skin apart and leaving him bleeding to die on the ground. The spy scrambled to his feet as fast as an injured man could, looking up at the heavy who had saved him, and the medic who had helped. He smiled and sighed with relief.

"Lucky me, to have a team like you."

The medic smiled back warmly and walked over to him, activating his medi-gun. The heavy surveyed around them for any more BLU members, gun at the ready.

"Ve should be thanking you, herr spy. The scout should be reaching our intelligence room any moment now!"

And speak of the devil, just as those words left his mouth, the speakers overhead blared: "The RED Team has successfully captured the intelligence!"

The spy met the medic's eye and beamed, a real smile of pride. It didn't make up for his past mistakes, but he'd be damned if moments like this didn't make him feel a little better about it all.

"Ach, I knew he would," said the medic, smiling right back.

The spy stretched and straightened up with the invigoration from the medi-gun.

"Well, back into it. Two more captures to go," said the spy, nodding a thank you at the pair. Misha smiled and nodded back as the medic redirected his healing beam back to him, and they parted ways.

          The rest of the match continued on as usual. The BLU team was putting up a good fight, bringing the score to a tie at 2-2. Mundy had downed each of their members at least once. Frequent spy-checks by himself and other coworkers just passing by kept him comfortable in his corner. What he hadn't known, however, was the presence of that very spy at the other end of the hall. He had been watching for a moment, cloaked for a while, then cycling through various RED members so as to prevent suspicion. He had gotten a handful of backstabs through this, but not the one he truly wanted. Not the one he needed. He'd had his mind set on waiting until tomorrow to strike, to better plan out the attack, but the sniper was right there, alone, unprotected. It tempted him. And god, how good it would feel to draw first blood from him, and so soon...

As he considered, the spy heard a friendly mmphm! from behind him. He turned to see the RED pyro ambling towardfs him, waving excitedly. Then, the raising of the flamethrower, in preparation to spy-check what he thought was his RED soldier companion. The spy lurched and bolted for the balcony window, dropping, narrowly dodging the fireball that rocketed past his head. He dipped behind a wall to turn on his invis-watch. He could hear the confused, then excited sounds of the pyro above him, then speech from the sniper.

"You what?"

"Mmm HMMmpfh!"

"Y' don't say. Snake's gettin' bold. Keep up the good work, mate."

A giddy giggle from above. It's a good thing he hadn't tried to strike, he was NOT in the mental space for it right now. Tomorrow would be a different story. For now, however, the spy thought he might as well try and steal the intelligence. He was already nearly there. He brought up the disguise of the RED scout and started towards the ramp to their intelligence room. Up the ramp, in through the doorway, down into the room, no problem. But on the way down, over the loudspeaker came the Administrator:

"Alert! The BLU team has taken the intelligence!"

And from the room bolted the BLU pyro, intel on his back, waving happily at the spy. The spy returned a determined smile.

"Tres bon, mon ami. Keep going, I'll defend you."

The pyro pumped a fist into the air as the spy ran ahead, clearing the path through the sewers. A dodged rocket and a backstab for the RED soldier, a gunfight with the RED engie, and then the BLU spy was finally finished off by his RED counterpart disguised as the BLU scout, much to his dismay. But, it had been enough to help his team make the winning capture. He respawned to cheers and jeers outside the room, and joined his team with a small, proud smile. His soldier and pyro were just outside spawn, celebrating as they waited for teleport, and the pyro waved and ran up to him happily, signing "thank you" over and over, then stopping with his arms outstretched, hands grabbing the air, asking for a hug. He wasn't huge on physical affection, but there was a warmth in the spy's chest. He found himself moving forward to oblige, just this once, arms outstretched.

"PREPARE FOR TRANSPORT!" Came the booming voice over the speakers.

A rare moment of embrace from the BLU spy, and then the battlefield was empty. Silent, as if no one had ever been there to begin with.

Chapter Text

**This chapter contains references to Meet the Medic and spoilers for the official TF2 comics. Content warning for panic and anxiety attacks, dissociation, and suicidal ideation. Y'all it gets so sad in here I don't know how this happened I'll make it up to you I promise**

          The BLU lobby was suddenly alive again with laughter and camaraderie. RED had had the lead in wins lately, and one for the BLU felt wonderful. The pyro held the intel up high above his head, bouncing on his tippy toes. The demo gave him a congratulatory pat on the back as Ludwig approached to take the briefcase.

"Good work, herr pyro. I will take this and see what information the RED have given us today." 

The pyro nodded and happily gave over the case, but he looked at the spy. He turned back to the medic and waved his hand for his attention again. The team watched as he pointed to himself, then gestured inwards with four fingers, lifted a thumbs-up on a flat palm, and then pointed to the spy; "I had help from him." 

The medic smiled softly and shifted his gaze to the spy, who didn't have the best understanding of ASL. 

"Good work to you too, then, herr spy. Pyro says you helped him out."

The spy chuckled softly and nodded. The scout had been watching the pyro, copying the movements and reciting their meaning to himself. He had been trying to learn for his friend. The rest of the team granted the spy some of their celebration as well, with a thumbs up and a proud nod from the soldier, a pat on the back from Dell, a happy clap from the pyro himself. He may be a solitary man at times, but moments like this were heartwarming to him.

"You are all too kind, I was only doing my job," he stated with a little smile and a humble nod of acceptance. 

Little by little, among chatter and the sound of the scout's portable radio, larger weapons were put up and the mercs dispersed to their evening routines. Spy often left soon after their return to the base, but he was almost done with his book and the show of teamwork had softened him today. He and demo decided to regroup in the rec room to finish reading, as the rowdy boys from this morning hadn't decided to rematch foosball again; they were busy with target practice (and making up, at Dell's insistence) in the gunsmithy. Dell and Ludwig were in their respective workshops while the heavy, scout, and pyro prepared dinner for the base. The three were surprisingly good cooks together.

The heavy ran a kitchen well. He had been preparing a beef stock for his goulash, having the pyro chop veggies and scout start sweating some onions and browning chunks of beef. The aromatics were starting to waft up into the air to join the tunes from the scout's radio. The smell was spiced, paprika and carraway, warm and inviting.

"Scout, make sure you stir well, please." The heavy spoke with a gentle command.

The scout eyed the heavy with a cocked eyebrow. "You're actin' like I ain't ever cooked before, I got it. It's just soup," he retorted with a chuckle. 

The pyro's chopping slowed and he turned slightly to listen in. Even he knew this was no ordinary soup. There was a beat of silence broken only by the sizzle of the pot and the crackly radio. The heavy turned to face the scout, brow furrowed.

"Is not soup. Is goulash. Soup is water with sprinkling of vegetable. Weak. Goulash is strong, good for muscles." He peered into the scout's pot and nodded. "You stir well. Ready for broth. Pyro, we will need carrots soon." 

He received a nod and a thumbs up in response, and the chopping sped up once again. A little ways down the hall, the door to the medical facility swung open. Ludwig walked out, pausing just a moment in the hallway to breathe in the aroma of the stew. He continued on, crossing the hallway and pushing open the door to the rec room. He peered in, rapping on the door with a knuckle to gather the attention of the men inside. 

"Spy?"

From one of the cushy chairs within the room, the spy looked up just slightly with a hm? as he met the doctor's eye.

"Your...stitches..." hesitated the medic, gesturing towards his neck. There was an awkward pause. "...it's a good time to check them, herr spy."

The spy nodded with a furrowed brow, looking uncomfortable. A hand raised to his neck.

"I suppose it is." 

He faltered a moment before standing and placing his book on the seat he had occupied, nodding towards the demo in reassurance that he'd be back to continue. The scot nodded back with a kind sadness in his eyes. Those stitches, that whole thing that happened with the red team was a very sore subject for the spy. It had left him a completely changed man. He lived in a silent stupor for the first week after he returned, nothing but bed rest and a near liquid diet. Successfully reattaching a severed head was nothing short of impossible, but with the technology they had access to and the experimental prowess of the BLU medic and both engineers, a miracle had been performed. The frenchman made his way to the medic, and they started down the hallway. 

"I have a few preliminary questions this time, herr spy. It's been almost 3 months since we-"

"Please," snapped the spy, his face hard with anger, but layered with a discomfort and bitter sadness, visible in the pleading eyes beneath his tense brow. "Please, Ludwig, when we get into the room." 

The doctor sucked in a sharp breath, slightly panicked. He wrung his hands and held his arms in a tight grip, attempting to regulate the stress. They walked in palpable silence. The spy, as much as he didn't want to show it, was visibly distressed as well. It had been a little while since he'd even thought of the scars, of that event. He had essentially blocked it from his memory, and being reminded in such a way made him feel like it was happening all over again, a new torture every time. His hands gripped at the items in his pockets; flicking the cigarette tin open and shut, tapping on his lighter, fidgeting with the fabric of his pockets. He spoke softly as they approached the medical door.

"Désolé, doctor. It's just..." he trailed off, struggling to find the words. Ludwig cleared his throat and looked at him with understanding. 

"It- it's okay, herr spy," he stuttered, reassuring as best he could. He motioned at the exam table within the room. "Take a seat and ve'll get this over with as quickly as we can." 

A nod, and the foam of the table hissed, compressing beneath the spy as he sat. 

"Any pain at the reattachment site?" began the doctor.

"Rarely," replied the spy, unmoving. "Jolts of pain if I move it strangely. It aches sometimes if sleep on it a certain way."

"All motor function regained?" 

A nod in reply. The spy's eyes remained set straight ahead, distant. Already the unpleasant memories of over a month in the clutches of the enemy came to him. He hated even thinking of those scars.

"Right. And now, to...assess it visually, please."

He knew the time would come, and yet. Shaky hands raised to undo his tie, then the first few buttons of his dress shirt. His hands hesitated at the hem of his mask. His eyes were glassy, widening slightly in panic that he was not fully aware of. His brows tensed further, twitching under the duress of his discomfort. The doctor held off a moment, then cleared his throat as gently as he could.

"Herr spy, you don't need to remove your mask. Just roll it up an inch or two, it's okay." 

The spy's trembling eyes met the medic's. He became aware of the pounding in his chest. He swallowed hard and looked away, nodding slightly. His thumbs and fingers worked shakily to fold the edge of his mask up. Just beneath it lay a thick, pigmented, raised scar, leading all the way around his neck. It was dark and pronounced, and, at this rate, it would stay that way for the rest of his life. It was a grisly reminder of sadism, of dark and cold isolation. It had been nothing short of excruciating. 

The doctor leaned in, peering at the scar tissue from different angles and in different places. He muttered to himself. The spy was none the wiser, simply sitting frozen in place, eyes glossed over. His hands had lowered, clutching tightly at his arms. He tried to focus on the rebar of the ceiling, the wires above his head, breathing as deeply as he could muster, but his pounding heart did not slow. Over the drumbeat in his chest, he could still hear the memories of agony. Sadistic, cackling laughter. Shocks of pain. Isolation in complete darkness, the artic, mechanical frost, the metallic smell of blood and organs. His voice had gone hoarse from screaming and cursing, then it had gone completely. They had unmasked him. The RED medic had seen his face, deaf to his shouts of pleading, the only moment he begged for mercy. He would have been better off dead. He wished they had just killed him. 

In just a minute's time the doctor had completed the assessment. The procedure had healed immensely well, and the careful reattachment of nerves, tendons, and muscles seemed to have worked out. It was a miracle of science that he was still alive today. The doctor straightened up with a content sigh. 

"It's done, herr spy. You may go."

 He wrote a few things on his clipboard. He took the pages off and filed them away, then put away the clipboard and pen. He turned back towards the spy. He hadn't moved at all. 

"...spy?" 

No response, no motion. The medic murmured, concerned, and approached him gently. His eyes were still wide open, looking dry to the touch, mouth slightly agape, breaths now shallow and quick. His hands were trembling with the force of his grip. The doctor looked on with increasing panic. 

"Spy, come back to me..." he uttered, quietly, urgently. He placed a hesitant hand on the spy's knee. Nothing. He continued staring, trembling, taking is fast gasps of air. Ludwig grew panicked.

"Spy!!" he insisted, just louder than his speaking voice, now placing a firm hand on the frenchman's shoulder, shaking him just a little bit. It was enough to wrench him out of his petrified stupor. The spy jolted, jumping away from the touch. His breath deepened to a pant as he regained full consciousness, eyes blinking repeatedly, tearing up now to make up for lost moisture. His hands were aching, stuck in the shape of claws from the constant force of his grip, and every muscle of his body was exhausted from the tension. A strained groan escaped with his every exhale. He met the eye of the concerned medic and his hands jerked to his neck, tugging the lip of his mask back down. He moved to stand but his legs faltered and he nearly fell backwards, back onto the exam table. The doctor staggered to catch him and pull him back onto the table. 

"No, spy, no, you need to sit for a moment and breathe, please," he urged, speaking firmly but looking slightly relieved at the response. As the spy complied, Ludwig straightened back up and moved to fetch him some water. The spy placed a hand to his chest, feeling the racing pulse within. God, his eyes hurt from being open so long. He hadn't realized just how badly the decapitation event had affected him. He just tried his best to forget it happened, to block out the visual of the scar in the mirror. He had gotten pretty good at it, nearly forgotten it was there. The medic returned with a paper cup of cool water, firmly offering it to the spy.

"Drink slow and breathe deep, my friend." He watched as the spy stretched out his hands and took the cup, still trembling, and took a small sip. The doctor paused a moment, letting the spy breathe, then started again.

"Look, spy," he said, "I think we may need to talk about counseling for your traumas. Every time I check your scars this happens, and I think it's only getting worse." 

The spy looked up at him, then back down at his cup, nodding meekly. He didn't have the strength to protest. 

"Ve can talk about it when you're better. I think it would really do you good."

Maybe the medic was right; it would only get worse the longer he repressed it. But counseling, so personal. He couldn't talk about himself to a group of strangers, hell, he never even left his house undisguised. He took another sip. The thought of somebody to talk to, someone who understood what he had gone through was...tolerable.

          It had been a couple of hours since transport at the RED base. A handful of the boys had gone home already. Only the medic, heavy, sniper, and pyro remained. Herbert and Misha were holed up in the medic's workshop, something about an ongoing project. Sniper had decided to stay the night at the base, sleep on an actual bed for once. Pyro liked the company, anyways. The two of them were sat in the rec room, deep into a game of go-fish.

"Hmm...d'ya have any sevens?"

"Mnh-mh! Ghh fsh."

The sniper grumbled, eyeing his hand of cards. He had at least half the deck in his hand. It was close to cramping with the force of holding so many. The pyro giggled as the aussie reached for another card and struggled to slot it in with the rest of them. Their hand was very comfortable, with only two cards left.

"Huddyuh hmm...hsses?"

"Any aces, y'said?"

"Uh huh."

Mundy threw his head back in exaggerated anguish with a dramatic groan. He smiled a little hearing the pyro tap-tap-tap their feet on the ground with glee.

"Naw mate, only three of em! How'd ya get so bloody good at this?" He chuckled, very carefully picking out his aces to hand them to the excited merc before him. The pyro stacked all four aces on the table with a giddy laugh. Mick studied his hand of cards and squinted, looking at pyro's single card. The odds were not in his favor.

"Now, see..." he pondered a moment, looking at the stacks of grouped cards on the table. If those were the stacked cards...and he had these in his own hand... "...hand over your ten!"

The pyro gasped and tapped on the table excitedly, turning their last card around to reveal...the ten of hearts. The sniper smiled proudly to the tune of an astonished pyro, chuckling as he took the ten. He grouped his tens and laid them on the table, beside his other stack. The pyro had still won, having had more complete stacks than he did, but it had been fun. He watched as the pyro counted their stacks and realized he'd won, throwing both fists up in the air with a happy mmphm!!

"You're way good at this, fireball," smiled the sniper, gathering their cards and starting to shuffle. Amidst the pyro's celebratory claps and cheers came a knock at the rec room door. It creaked slightly as the medic peered into the room.

"Mundy?"

"Yeh?"

"Sorry to interrupt, eh, would you mind coming to the medical room? I'd like to take a look at your stitches, please. It's been about a month since I last checked on them."

The sniper's face fell, just barely. An air of discontent crossed his brow, just enough for the pyro to tilt his head in question. Mundy took a breath.

"Yeah, doc, I gotcha."

"Perfect. I'll wait for you zhere."

Herbert made his exit with a kind nod and the sniper stood, looking back at the pyro.

"You'll be awright by yourself for a little, yeh? I'll be back soon." He tried for a reassuring smile, but there was worry in his eyes. The pyro hesitated, but nodded. Mundy nodded back, turning and moving towards the door. As he reached for the door, a little muffled sound stopped him, and he felt a gloved hand on his arm. He turned and met the eye of his masked friend.

"...mmph mhddh hm mh hu?" asked the pyro. They were worried for their friend.

The sniper thought a moment, then nodded a little with a sorrowful smile.

"Y'know what? Maybe I could use the company. Now, let's get a move on."

He offered a hand to hold, which the pyro clasped with held-back enthusiasm. Mundy didn't care much for his appearance, so long as he was somewhat presentable, but those scars...the surgery that reanimated his corpse had healed dark, raised, nothing short of garish. They were an eyesore, and a point of insecurity for the aussie. He couldn't stand being shirtless, other than for showers, and even then he sped through scrubbing his chest. He couldn't catch himself in the mirror without one; he'd be left meek and solitary, mentally shaken the rest of the day, even unable to focus well enough to work. 

The two walked in relative silence, only broken by an occasional soft humming through the pyro's mask. It did comfort the sniper to have someone with him. The two reached the medical doors, stopping just outside for Mick to take a deep breath before walking in. The pyro felt the sniper's hand tighten around theirs as they crossed the doorway, and his concern for their friend deepened. 

The room was cold and harshly lit. The examination table was directly before them, flanked by cabinets and counters along the walls. A small rolling chair held the doctor by the table, writing on his clipboard. Near the door was a moth-eaten waiting chair, which contained a passed out heavy. The medic looked up at the two, smiling a little at the unexpected company. 

"Heh, nothing like a pyro for a little moral support, ja? Sit just here, Mundy, this'll take only a minute." 

A hum of agreement from the sniper, audibly tense. He approached the table, pyro in tow, and hoisted himself onto it. The medic rolled closer.

"Go ahead and pull up your shirt. Take all zhe time you need, ja? I know this is hard for you. This'll likely be the last time I have to check them, since they've been healed so long, but zhese experimental techniques need eh...supervision." 

The sniper frowned a little and took another deep breath. He released the pyro's hand, moving to the hem of his shirt. He paused, feeling his heart rate increase, and turned to his flame-throwing friend. 

"Py, d'ya mind lookin' away? I just...for comfort." He had trouble choking out the words. The pyro nodded without hesitation, turning on his heel to face his back to the sniper, and covering their mask lenses with their hands, for good measure. A weak chuckle escaped the sniper, even the slightest relief welcome. He touched, then gripped the hem of his shirt, feeling the stitches in the fabric on his fingertips, then took a few more deep breaths before raising his hands, pulling the hem up to his chin. He tipped his head straight up, eyes shut tight, trying to ignore the screaming discomfort in his head. He could feel the eyes on his scars. He tried focusing on the sound of the medic writing, on the slow, muffled breath of the pyro beside him, on the steady snore of the heavy in the chair...but that voice in his head was relentless. He was hyper aware of the raised scars running across his chest, down his abdomen. The events leading to and after them. The exhaustion. He had physically felt his organs come back to life, filling with moving blood again, the sensation of static fading from within. He could remember how it felt to die. Those scars. They shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here. I was supposed to die. I was supposed to stay dead. I should have stayed dead. 

As the medic examined, in the two minutes it took, he watched the sniper's breathing turn shallow and quicken in pace. His lungs stuttered in unsuccessful attempts to regulate his thoughts. He wrote as quickly as he could. 

"Okay, Mundy, you can-"

Before he had even finished the sentence, the sniper had flung his arms back down, tugging the shirt down with them. A split second and he was hunched over, wrapped tightly in his own arms, forcing back sobs. Both the medic and pyro startled at the sound; it was primal, a desperate attempt to conceal. The thump of sobs fighting to escape and the sound of shallow, fast breath hissing through gritted teeth. It sounded painful. Herbert hurried to drop his clipboard further on the exam table as the pyro turned, leaning on the table, assessing his friend with increasing worry. The medic stood by the sniper, softly placing a hand on his upper back. A racking sob flew from his throat as he crumbled completely. Staccato waves of strangled breaths shook his entire body, woven in with muffled cries. A soft wail of pure sorrow from the pyro joined the sounds of torment as they gently wrapped their arms around the poor, guilt-stricken man. The sniper reciprocated with a lean into the hug, shuddering an exhale, and the pyro held him closer. Herbert pat the man's back softly, a look of utter misery on his face, before turning to fetch a cup of water and some tissues. He wasn't much use with ailments of the mind, but he helped in the ways he could. 

It didn't take very long for the sniper to start calming back down. He stayed leaning into the pyro's hug, the bottom half of his face buried in the crook of his elbow. There was shame in his eyes, embarrassment. He hated getting like this, but it happened every time he was seen without a shirt. His breathing and heart rate would pick up, almost like he would remember that he had those scars, remember everything all over again, uncontrollable. 

"Mundy?" spoke the medic, voice gentle. He received a sad look in reply. 

"I think you may need therapy for the events you've gone through, my friend. It must be exhausting avoiding these breakdowns constantly." 

The sniper averted his gaze, eyebrows drawn low. He had worked through the resentment of being revived on his own, but the physical reminder of the experience itself proved more than he was capable of healing by himself. He didn't like the idea of a group of strangers knowing such personal details about him. Hell, who would even believe he had died and been reanimated? But the thought of someone truly understanding where he was...it was relieving. 

"Maybe," he muttered. 

Herbert hummed a response. "Ve can talk about it when you feel better, ja?"

"Yeah."

Chapter Text

**Violence ahead! Also slight nsfw at the very end, more implied than anything**

          The jangle of an alarm clock brought the BLU spy out of his restful night's sleep. He lurched with a sighing groan and sat up in his bed, stopping the noise and sitting with his aching body for a moment. He stuck his feet in his slippers and stood. A stretch with a pained grunt and a sigh. He really had slept well, but his muscles were achey, sore.  He approached the bathroom, then something stopped him at the threshold. The events of the previous night came flooding back to his mind. The thought of the mirror within the bathroom...he couldn't face it. He couldn't look at himself, his face, god forbid his neck. His face tensed and flushed with embarrassment, and with it came a slight headache in his groggy state. The spy groaned, holding his head in his hands. Mon dieu, what a spectacle he had made of himself. To break down and react like that, like a scared little prey animal, god he hated the weakness of the human mind. And now, the simple possibility of glimpsing his face in the mirror was delaying him. As he considered his options, which were few to begin with, his eyes fell upon his work hat: a wide-brimmed fedora, on his dresser countertop. As foolish as it would feel, it would prevent him from catching his reflection in the mirror. He contemplated. He had to get ready at some point. How idiotic, he sneered to himself, taking it and placing it atop his head, tilting it further forward than usual. The silly things we do for sanity.

          The RED sniper's morning had a similar quality. Devoid of his usual raucous alarm clock, he was awoken by a hand clad in rubber gently shaking his shoulder and a muffled good morning! His decision to sleep in the base was probably for the best, especially following the events of the previous night. Mundy sat up and greeted the pyro with a pat on the head, yawning a sluggish g'day, mate back at his teammate. He up and stumbled to the adjacent bathroom and flicked on the light with a grunt in response to the sudden bright. He blinked a few times before settling at a sink, in front of a mirror. The eyes that looked back at him were puffy from crying the night before. The creases in his face seemed deeper. He had slept in his work undershirt, and he'd be damned if he was going to take it off to change today. He didn't have the mental fortitude for that just yet. God, what a night, he scowled to himself, thinking as he brushed his teeth. He hated feeling that weak, that sad and pathetic. Especially when he had a job to do, and a challenging one at that. What he had gone through would break any man. He had cheated death itself. You had to be very strong to survive that kind of thing. The little positive thought brought a kindling spark of confidence back into him. He did have to be strong, didn't he.

          The two prepared for the coming day in much their usual routine, if a little wary of mirrors. The BLU demo picked up the spy, disguised as always, in his little minivan on the way to the base. He had dropped him off the night before, as recommended by their medic. A long drive alone in a mental state like that was not ideal. They shared some friendly chatter amongst their teams upon arrival, and the spy reassured the scot that he was doing much better after a good rest. The sniper did much the same when the medic arrived, promising he was well enough to fight. If anything, a match would take his mind off of the events of last night. Plus, he had an assigned target to kill, a challenge to win. It sounded like a good, tough match too; they'd be defending a payload at Badwater Basin. Lots of ground to cover. 

          "TRANSPORT BEGINS IN TEN SECOND!" rang the voice of the Administrator through the halls of the BLU base. The clanking of weapons being taken up started. The lobby was less exciting than the day before, since they'd have the RED team's setup time to get ready. The BLU spy had been having a friendly chat with his engineer, each one trying to get the other to try their preferred smoke; the spy's being a cigarette, and the engie's being a tobacco cigar. It took a lot of mental effort for the spy not to adjust his mask or rub at his neck. As much as he tried to distract himself, his subconscious was still focused on those scars, but he acted completely normal for the sake of his reputation. The scout and pyro were boxing in one corner as the soldier cheered them on, with the heavy acting referee. The demo took a swig from a silver flask, seated at one of the benches while the medic and sniper honed their weapons. The preparation would ramp up after transport. 

          Preparation in the RED base had been pretty much the same. Scout was stretching early, the soldier seemed to be explaining rocket jumping to their pyro, the heavy and medic were spinning and charging their weapons with the spy nearby, flipping and messing with his knife. Dell and Tavish were going on about seeing their BLU buddies again, since they didn't often interact without having to kill each other. Some of their setup time could be used chatting through the gates. Dell had experiments to update the BLU medic on, and Tavish just missed his BLU soldier buddy. Last but not least, the RED sniper was standing in a corner, isolated, just fidgeting with his machete. He hoped a good fight would take him out of this mental rut. The spy had noticed and ambled over. 

"Scared, Mick?" he joked, gently. 

The sniper looked at him and chuckled a little. "Nah, just...tired." 

A nod of understanding. The spy could tell there was something more serious at play, but it wasn't a good time to get into that. He resorted to a playful elbow to the sniper's shoulder.

"Make sure you nail that amateur this time, oui? Seeing zhat dime-store suit gives me a headache."

A more earnest chuckle came from the sniper now, giving the spy a hearty nod. 

"Oh I've definitely got 'im this time." 

"Splendid," he said with a smile.

"FIVE!"

Miles apart, with nothing but desert in between, the two groups of mercenaries were shuffling in anticipation, fixing their uniforms, shining their weapons. 

"FOUR!"

Spoken motivations and excited dialogue echoed in the lobbies. 

"THREE!"

The RED pyro caught their sniper in a soft hug with a muffled "you got this!" as the sniper chuckled and hugged back. He caught the eye of the medic who gave him a determined nod and thumbs-up. 

"TWO!"

The BLU medic stood by his spy, readying his medi-gun. The spy nodded at the doctor, one final silent reassurance that he was okay. Ludwig nodded back, the slightest of smiles on his face. 

"ONE!"

A blip of time, mere seconds, and the mercenaries were teleported to Badwater Basin, a twisting array of RED and BLU buildings laced throughout badlands cliffs of red-orange rock. Within one of the redwood warehouses appeared the RED mercs, hooting and hollering with weapons in the air. Amidst the "LET'S GET EM!"s and "HUDDAAAHH!!"s and "HOO-RAAH"s, the boys barely made out the Administrator over the loudspeaker, saying "MISSION BEGINS IN SIXTY SECONDS!" 

They poured from the garage-style doors, sprinting and bomb-jumping through the building and out into the bright desert morning. Mundy situated his gear and trekked up the rocky path to his favorite overlook and set up a temporary camp, watching his closer-range teammates run right up to the gate to mock and meddle with the BLU. His demo and the BLU soldier found each other as if magnetized, pressing themselves against the gate in greeting. They laughed and threw punches through the gate, rattling and riling each other up like they hadn't seen the other in years. At the other gate, the RED engineer had slipped near bursting a manila folder to the intrigued BLU engie and medic before sprinting off to set up his dispenser and sentry in his preferred spot. The pyros and scouts huddled together, jeering and laughing. Through his scope, Mundy could see the heavy and demo in the very back of BLU spawn, their sniper was tightening his bow a little further off...but there was no sign of the spy. Surely, he wasn't invisible already, there was no point in that. Maybe disguised already...?

"MISSION BEGINS IN FIVE SECONDS!"

He watched the mercs scatter as if spontaneously repelled by the gates and chuckled to himself. That never got old. Everyone held their starting positions. 

"FIVE!"

Guns were drawn and cocked. 

"FOUR!"

Within the BLU spawn, the spy watched the sniper, brows furrowed tight, planning his first attack. He would have that first kill before the end of this match. 

"THREE!" 

A couple of the boys got the last of their jitters out.

"TWO!"

Unbelievable stillness on the battlefield. The sniper aimed, squinting, his rifle charged. He held his breath.

"ONE!"

A tidal wave of ear-shattering sound resonated from every corner of the immediate area. The sniper quickly seized his first kill, the BLU medic, via headshot, just before he could uber their scout. A trap of RED sticky bombs was blown away by the BLU pyro, allowing for the involvement of the rest of the mercs. Tavish chortled a "Hah! Clever!" before beginning a rain of grenades. The BLU sniper and demo took him down, then the ubercharged RED heavy lay siege on many of the BLU members, peppering them with flying lead. As the battle began, the BLU spy crept along the outskirts of the main battlefield, dodging the bodies of his enemies to reach the tunnel along the payload tracks. His eyes were on the RED pyro. He needed that mumbling freak dead, and he was certain it would happen soon. He watched. Just past the mouth of the tunnel he waited, invisible. 

The BLU soldier leaned up on the payload, pushing with his back, his rocket launcher locked and loaded. The RED pyro ran towards him, blasting fireballs in his direction. He braced, laughing maniacally, taking a burst of flame to the abdomen in exchange for a rocket to the body of the pyro. The fire caught and charred, cloth, then skin. It spread over his entire body quickly, his flesh turning to tar and ash, still alive. By God, did it hurt. But it hurt more that that pyro was still alive. The rocket had hit, but the maniac had lived, if cursing and limping as they did so. The soldier ran, releasing a war cry as he readied his shovel. In an attempt to escape this wrath, the pyro activated and started their jetpack, but the blow landed mid-air, directly across his neck. Their head spun, too far, too fast, cracking and popping out of place. The corpse arched through the air to the sound of the soldier's cackling laugh. The pyro's arms, now heavy with dead weight, pushed the jetpack levers and propelled the body backwards, crash-landing in a smoldering heap right by the tunnel. Out of the RED sniper's field of vision. The BLU spy allowed himself a hushed, celebratory "yes!" before disguising and sprinting through the tunnel, up the red sand and gravel, up towards his target. 

Another few shots, another few kills. The payload had moved a few meters, but the RED sniper could hold this position just a little while longer before needing to move back. He stretched his neck for a moment and readied again, focused. So focused, in fact, that he did not hear the steps behind him. Indistinguishable from the RED pyro, the spy ran happily up the hill. There was the slightest breeze at this height, and the spy could already smell the killing he was going to deliver. Alas, the sniper smelled something on the breeze too; he stayed still, taking in an aromatic smell. Spiced like licorice, but in a more flowery way. It smelled...really good. Too good for a battlefield. He dropped his rifle and spun on his heel in one smooth motion, taking his machete from its' holster and swinging it once, twice in the place he had just stood. He was met with a wave and a muffled giggle from what looked like his pyro teammate, at most a foot away from where he had swung. The spy, although he kept up the act, was nothing short of shocked. What had gone wrong? There was no way he could have known. The sniper squinted and raised his blade again with a wry chuckle. 

"Finally man enough to come up close, huh? Shoulda worn a little less cologne, spook. Y' coulda had me." 

He ran forward and swung for the spy, who dodged and lunged with his own knife, his disguise dissolving in a sinking cloud of smoke. He grunted and grabbed at his upper arm through sharp pain, seeing blood begin to spread through his pristine blue suit. Just barely nicked, but worth it; he had left a gash, nearly to the bone in the shoulder of the sniper. The aussie was hissing through his teeth, clutching his injured shoulder. The spy laughed, cleaning his blade with his glove. 

"All this talk...let's see how you fight without five miles between you and your target." 

The spy darted forward, blade ready to strike. The sniper did the same, but the spy whirled off to the side at the very last second, thrusting the knife towards the back of his opponent. Mundy's reflexes, however, were quite good, and he managed to strike the spy's knife with his own, catching the spook's other arm with a follow-through swing of his machete. The frenchman shouted, more in surprise than pain. The sniper let out a proud chuckle. 

"How'zat for close quarters?" 

The spy sneered at the aussie, lunging forward with a roar, thrusting his blade into the chest of the sniper who cried out in pain. In an attempt at rebuttal he swung for the spy from the side, lodging his bushwacka within the ribs of his target. He could feel the flesh slice and the blade hit bone, grinding against it like stone. The spy let out a guttural cry that turned quickly to a shriek of searing pain as he was overtaken by flames from behind. The RED pyro had respawned and reached the sniper's hill just in time to break their stalemate. The spy fell limp, a charred, mangled heap on the ground. Mundy let out a small laugh of relief. 

"Perfect timing, fireball," he coughed, wheezing through pain and the effort of staying on his feet. Before the pyro could reciprocate, a barrage of buckshot sprayed from behind the sniper, embedding red-hot metal into his clothes, his skin, his already serious wounds. He let out a final strangled groan before collapsing, leaving the pyro to cry out in fury and deal with the BLU scout that had appeared behind him. 

It only took a handful of seconds for the boys to respawn. In the RED room, the sniper breathed deeply, equipping his rifle with a determined smile. He was damn proud of the fight he put up. He jogged out to rejoin his team, full of newfound vigor, ready to blow some heads. In the BLU room, however, the spy respawned with brows tense, low above his eyes. He should have had that. He was in his element, the sniper was at a disadvantage. The spy huffed and took a breath, pressing the space between his brows. He would have him next time. Through the gate he could see his team, now starting to push the payload into the tunnel. He assessed the enemy team, who was mostly attacking from the far side of the tunnel. He paused. Before heading out, apparently he had to do something about his cologne. That rare desert breeze wouldn't give him away again. Over to the lockers, he eyed a damp-looking, smudged towel. It looked like it may have been Dell's, splotched with grease. He grimaced at just the thought of rubbing that on him to conceal his very expensive cologne, but he couldn't think of any other way to deal with it in time. He shuddered, walking over and picking up the rag with the very tips of his fingers. It smelled like sweat and gunmetal. He closed his eyes tight, dabbing and then rubbing at his neck and shoulders, the places where he sprayed cologne the most. He held back a gag and threw the towel down once he was satisfied, shuddering. This suit was going directly to the dry cleaner's the second he got home. The things a man does for his career.

The spy, now ready at the gate, darted from spawn to the payload, towards the tunnel. He knew the sniper wouldn't be back just yet. He backstabbed a distracted RED spy, just for fun, before ducking into the tunnel and cloaking with invisibility. The payload was nearing the middle of the tunnel.

His next victim was sure to be that damned RED pyro, who was very keen on lighting up their cart so as to injure those pushing it. The BLU soldier was retaliating with rocket after rocket, as their demo sprinted around the cart, passing the pyro and swinging his war axe into anyone in his way, taking the heads of the RED scout and medic. Undeterred by the fireballs and savage laughter of the RED pyro, the BLU spy snuck around the payload, invisible, knife up at the ready. In an instant he lunged, burying the knife directly into the pyro's spine, splicing their spinal cord with tremendous ease. The mumbling fool hadn't even had time to react before the spy had disguised as the pyro and turned to continue the carnage. He yelled for a medic in his best pyro impression and bounded back into enemy lines, disguising his dodging of enemy fire as RED pyro excitement. He passed an injured RED heavy, whipping around to his back and driving the knife into his lower back. He was instantly disguised as the heavy. There was a sound behind him. 

"OI!" 

He watched the RED demo aim his grenade launcher at his face. Merde.

"That heavy's a bloody spy!!" he snarled, loosing two grenades in the BLU spy's direction. He dodged one, just barely catching shrapnel to the leg, but the second hit him square on the shoulder, tearing apart cloth, then skin, then muscle beneath in a shower of blood. He hissed in pain, weaving as best he could to escape out the other side of the tunnel. Thankfully, an overhealed BLU scout took the attention of the RED demo. As he ran, the perfect opportunity presented itself; the RED scout had respawned and reached the tunnel. As he hobbled down the tunnel, yelling for a medic, playing up his injuries, the scout passed him by, entirely unassuming. The spy's pained face fell into a deadpan as he focused, whirling around the scout and stabbing him square in the back. He chuckled with satisfaction, auto-disguising once again, then bolted out the other side of the tunnel. He swung left and quickly picked up a small medkit, then started down along the tracks to look for his assigned target. It didn't take very long: at the upcoming turn, where the tracks disappeared around a corner, the spy spotted a long, dark barrel, bobbing and dipping. He slunk along the wall, counting seconds to himself.  The pyro and medic would likely be running this way any moment now. He would approach the sniper as they arrived, then use the passing teammates as his distraction to get to the sniper's back. He chuckled evilly to himself, shaking out some energy before getting back into character. Just a moment more, then he ran up to the corner and acted surprised to see the sniper. 

"Oh hey, pally! Settin' up real early, yeah?"

Just beyond them, rounding the corner before the B point, the BLU spy could see the medic and pyro running back into battle. Perfect. The sniper seemed surprised, but quickly content upon seeing a teammate. He opened his mouth to reply, but his eyes narrowed slightly with skepticism. The spy had tried once already...

"Yeh, just a temp spot." He reached down for a jarate jar. The spy paled beneath his disguise. "Oi, mate, y' don't mind if I-"

"Stopp zhat cart!!" came the shrill cry of the medic, partnered with the hum of his medigun and the excited battle cry of the pyro. 

 The sniper startled ever so slightly and watched the medic pass for only a moment, jarate still in hand. He turned back quickly enough to see the disguised spy dart behind him. He spun on his heel with a surprised grunt, his arm raising, jar of urine held up in the air. It felt as if time slowed. The spy's knife came down, slashing at the cloth of the sniper's shirt where his back had just been. The spy's disguise disintegrated in a wave of billowing smoke. 

The sniper's arm came down. 

The jar fell free of his hand. 

The BLU spy's eyes widened with the knowledge of what was to come. His feet struggled to find friction in the sand beneath him as he floundered in a panic. The jar struck the ground. It cracked, then shattered, buckling under the force of the throw, propelling a wave of urine up into the air. It landed on the clean-pressed suit of the BLU spy, splattering up all the way to his chest, completely drenching his legs. 

It was still warm.

"MON DIIEUUU!!"

Never had the sniper heard a more genuinely appalled, completely horrified sound. It was music to his ears. 

"Heads up, you weasel!" he chortled, grabbing hold of his bushwacka and lunging at the piss-sodden spy. 

God, he could feel the cloth of his pants sticking to his legs, his socks soggy, he could see the smallest droplets spotting close to his lapel. And the smell. It was salty and sour, pungent. 

"AaaRGHH!!"

The BLU spy flew into a urine-powered rage, countering the attack by catching and pushing the sniper's arm away, towards the wall. His hand just missed the hilt of the machete, the lower part of the blade sinking into the divide between his palm and thumb. He shrieked in pain and rage, pressing forward despite the injury, pinning the sniper to the wall. His other hand held his knife up against the skin of the aussie's throat, who was desperately pushing back against the knife with his own free hand. The spy could see the artery inch closer to the blade with every pump of his speeding heart. He chuckled darkly. Looking up at the sniper's eyes, he saw something he hadn't expected.

Fear.

The aussie stared back at the spy, eyes wide, trembling. He glanced at the knife, mouth slightly agape, making little whining, grunting noises as he struggled to inch further from the shining blade. His breath was shallow, strained. He looked back into the eyes of the spy.

 "You got piss on my suit," he hissed through gritted teeth, a vicious scowl on his face. He was already savoring the kill he was about to gain. First blood, finally, and his. That is, until the grenade tossed behind him detonated. He was thrown forward, his body pressing into that of the sniper's, chest to chest, hip to hip as the metal fragments dug into his backside. In his surprise, his grip on Mundy's machete loosened. Through his clouded thoughts, the sniper mustered the instinct of driving his now mobile machete deep into the abdomen of his target, swinging his bushwacka out to his side and into the soft abdomen of the frenchman. He pushed the blade deeper, cutting through flesh, separating bone. He watched the life leave the spy's eyes. The stupefied sniper exhaled and blinked, swimming in a mental haze, dropping the body on the ground with the blade still lodged in it. 

The RED demo, proud launcher of the spy-distracting grenade, jogged past the sniper, towards the payload. He yelled with a cackle as he passed the aussie. 

"Wooo!! Get a room, laddies!!"  

The sniper stood there, unresponsive, for a handful of seconds. He had never seen the spy that close. He had a smaller frame than he'd thought, but what he lacked in stature he made up for in ferocity. His eyes. Those cold eyes were seared into his mind, grey-blue and piercing. He was nothing short of barbaric. The cold steel on his throat...the explosion had propelled it forward too, leaving him with a minor cut across his neck. The explosion. Oh, god, the explosion. He looked down almost fearfully, as if he didn't want visual confirmation of what he was feeling. Mundy leaned against the wall, mind clouded, thoughts racing like his heart.

Nearby, in the BLU spawn room, the spy respawned, hand over his mouth, thinking. He really hoped what he'd felt during that explosion wasn't what he thought it was. An extra dagger, a spare cartridge of bullets, something in the sniper's pocket, but he knew it wasn't. More prevalent was the fear he had seen in his eyes. God, it had been delectable. He felt surprisingly at ease with the fact that he had died first. The sniper may have snagged the first kill (completely by luck, mind you), but the spy had gained something infinitely more valuable: intel. That sniper was a kinky goddamned freak, whether he knew it or not. This was definitely something he could use to his advantage. 

Chapter Text

"THE CART HAS PASSED THE FIRST CHECKPOINT!!"

          Both boys startled from their thoughts. This was not the time to ponder. The sniper shook his head clear of the fog and picked up his rifle again, shooting just a couple of times at the tangle of mercenaries nearing his position before he backed up to his next sniping hideout. The BLU spy cloaked as his own scout and bolted from their spawn, catching up to his team. They stayed relatively busy, out of the other's way for a little while. The BLU team was putting up a hell of a fight and the cart progressed at a pretty steady rate. The sniper stayed at a little balcony by B point, picking off the enemy teams' members one by one, until they got a little too close, then he'd move to a further position. Once the BLU soldier killed him off with a perfectly aimed rocket, he decided to back up to his next position. 

The spy had stayed busy essentially body-hopping around the payload. An invis cloak, a sneaky backstab, and an instant cloak disguise with the help of his specialized knife, until he was found out and forced to retreat or was killed. The whole time he kept a sharp eye on the position of his assigned target. Lately the sniper had been frequenting areas that were too open for a comfortable espionage mission. And the spy had gotten cocky; he could have easily just backstabbed him instead of causing their last interaction. All for the sake of wanting to mess with the bushman. The next time he would. And the next time seemed to be coming soon.

At this point the payload was turning the corner to point C. Mundy packed up quickly and moved to set up on the tracks, on a well-angled uphill that gave him a view of the mercs from afar.  He moved swiftly, through the open door behind him, into a little room, and back outside. He caught sight of the RED engineer's nest, under the overpass, tucked behind a wall. The angle allowed for perfect unexpected attack once the enemy stepped in range. The engineer was lounging near the turret, plucking an acoustic guitar and muttering lyrics to himself. The sniper walked down the stairs towards the track, to gain a good angle of the incoming attacks. He called the engie's attention, flaunting some terrible Spanish.

"Oi! You're in my spot, amigoe."

The engineer looked up at him, cringing, and laughed aloud.

"Uuuyy, that hurt me, compadre. Work on your accent."

Mundy laughed with him and made his way up into his hideout. He had a good view of the sentry tower from there.

"I'll keep an eye on your gun, Dell. Got a good angle on 'em here."

"Mil gracias, wey."

The sniper squatted into his temp position and stretched a moment while it was quiet. He could hear the gunfire approaching, and every now and again a teammate would run past from respawn, yelling about battling or greeting. He would likely see an enemy just before the sentry did due to angles of post. As Mundy cracked his neck, he saw the first trace of motion in his periphery. Immediately he jumped to position, rifle locked and loaded on the spot. The BLU scout beelined towards the track. The sniper aimed, held a moment, tracking and trying to predict the motion, then shot. He caught him in the shoulder, sending the boy reeling back in pain, yelling for a medic.

"Gotcha, you ankle-biter." he muttered to himself, racking the next round into the chamber of his gun. The BLU soldier ran backwards from the payload. Easy headshot, down. The BLU sniper ran through, looking for his next post. Boom, headshot. The trouble started when the sniper saw the BLU heavy, followed close by his medic, approaching the pass. He grimaced and scooted to the right, taking post nearer to the wall. Dell took notice of this and traded his guitar for his shotgun, knowing that movement meant something big and likely invulnerable was coming his way.

Sure enough, RED bodies were starting to fly. The RED demo ran back from respawn, taking position by the sentry to set up sticky bomb tramps and throw grenades around the wall. Their pyro charged forward, using their jetpack to get up close and personal. As the BLU team neared, the sniper backed further, eventually taking up his next position. Into the building on the right, up the stairs, he quickly kneeled by an overhead window. He set down his supplies in expectation of holding his post for a while. He popped a piece of cinnamon gum in his mouth and watched the first few BLU members enter the range of the sentry and get quickly shot down. The shouts of "sentry ahead!" began. The sniper took up his rifle and made quick work of spy-checking any teammate in the vicinity of the engie's nest. He should have known the spy was smarter than that. 

The BLU spy had been hanging back, staying in his usual routine of auto-disguising and backstabbing. He knew when the sniper would decide to change to his next position, he had simply figured the distance from watching him. As the sniper shot at his own teammates in search of his opponent, the spy had snuck slowly past it all and was heading up the stairs, closing in on the sniper's position. 

Then, from behind the cart, appeared the BLU pyro, tailed closely by the medic healing him. In a matter of milliseconds the medic ubered the pyro, and they stormed the machine. Cue the flood of enemies. Mundy tensed and readied for battle, hearing Dell curse about his sentry going down. Amidst burning rockets and arrows whizzing past his head, the sniper shot down BLU after BLU. He peeked, shot, then ducked behind the wall. Peeked, shot, ducked. Held behind the wall for a moment longer. Peeked, shot, ducked. Peeked, shot-

"Peek-a-boo." 

The sniper felt cold metal pierce the skin, then the bone of his back. He felt his spine sever in a flash of white-hot pain. It spread impossibly quickly. He didn't even have time to scream. In a moment the spy had cloaked, instantly replacing the position of the sniper, ducking behind the wall as he had been doing. Finally. He sat in the glory for a moment, smelling gunpowder and cinnamon, admiring the scarlet blood decorating the shining blade in his hand. But, it wasn't his hand; it was the gangly hand of the sniper. By some technological design of the cloaking device, the wearer would see themselves as the enemy team would. His engineer had explained it when he first received the gadget, but the specifics had been forgotten. He had stopped noticing the change in physique after a while. It occurred to him, just now, that he could disguise himself as his opponent any time he wished. The spy sat in the little room, eyes wide. The weight of the information he could gather from this simple mechanic! Imagine the knowledge of things no one else should know, what that could do to his enemy's mind! He was honestly pissed he hadn't thought of it before. 

By this time, the engineer had rebuilt his sentry and was moving it into a better position for his team. It was about this time that Mick respawned, sighing and shaking his head. He had essentially forgotten about spy-checking near him in his focus of the incoming payload. He readied his rifle and made his way to the same position he had had before, forcing a mental note to spy check more often.

          C point had been taken.  The payload had barely slowed this match. The win from the day before had been a hell of a boost for the BLU. But the final pass, right outside RED spawn, was always the most difficult point. They'd begun to take the last corner. Mundy had set up far across the playing field, in a little room facing the turn, just outside of RED spawn. That was his final easy outpost; from there he would be shooting from the open. He could already hear the approaching battle, and his team members were fighting past the corner now. The aussie took a breath, popping another piece of gum before settling into the corner by the room's door, poised to shoot. 

The sniper had nailed the spy again earlier, after the backstab in his prior camp. A careful eye and the lucky witness of one of his re-cloaks earned him a headshot on the spook. He had seen his demo falter in a strange way, and after watching him for a moment, he flawlessly took the place of the RED soldier. If he'd have blinked, he would have missed it. He watched him for a moment more, never having seen him in action, and for good reason; as much as he disliked him, he was good at what he did.

BANG

But not good enough. The sniper chuckled to himself. 

"Backstab that, you weasel."

The shot had come as a surprise to the spy (I mean, can't really see a headshot to the back of your skull coming, can you), and he had respawned thinking about a change in technique. He thought he had perfected his body-swapping backstab, but clearly, watching your teammates disappear and become one another was...telling. In any case, he wanted back into the fight. He wanted another close-quarters fight, a chance to entertain the hypothesis he had built about the, ahem, excitable sniper. 

He assumed the aussie would be stationed across from the final turn, so kept his cloaking beyond that wall. He disguised as his own sniper teammate, as he had recently been killed off, and started running towards battle, formulating a plan. His options were either to crouch and slowly make his way over while invisible, or disguise as a RED member and book it to his position while yelling for health. Merde, and he was posted right in front of the spawn doors. As much as he wanted to mess with the sniper's head, this kill would have to be quick. Whatever, he would have plenty of other chances to really get him. 

The BLU spy had reached the payload now and entered the heart of the battle, dodging bombs and blows. He considered who to disguise himself as, though really, any one of those RED idiots would do. He was accosted by their pyro, who torched him without hesitation. He retaliated through scorching flame, wincing and yelling in pain, with two revolver shots, the final of which finished the pyro off in a clean headshot. He stayed by the payload to heal a moment, fending off an overexcited RED scout, who was quickly finished off by a swing from the BLU demo's axe. Just a moment more, the spy thought to himself, once the payload makes the turn. Once the sniper is distracted enough.

          That point was coming quick. Multiple targets were clearing the corner now, and Mundy couldn't reload fast enough to pick them all off. He was doing a considerable amount to keep them at bay, however, and the payload had stalled at the corner for the first time during the match. He shot again and huffed, dipping behind the wall to reload again. As he poked his head out, he was met with a very fast-approaching rocket. He gasped quick and tumbled backwards, just narrowly escaping the projectile, then began hacking and coughing in an attempt to not swallow his gum. What a disaster of a man. Or at least that's what the spy was thinking, watching the man from the payload in vague amusement. Good time to start closing the distance. 

As the sniper got back into position, still coughing some, his medic and scout ran past him from spawn. His pyro ran inwards towards it, and the RED engie wasn't far behind them. His little cabin was a hustle and bustle, damn near impossible to spy check everyone and still keep shooting. He cleared his throat, gum finally dislodged, and began aiming down the arena once again. That didn't last long. 

A pair of strong hands clutched the aussie's shoulders, pulling him up out of his aiming stance, and chest-first against the wall. He struggled back with a grunt, trying to turn his head and confirm who he thought had him, but the whooshing sound of a de-cloak and the spike of a blade poking at his back was evidence enough. The BLU spy had a forearm against the upper back of the sniper, keeping his chest and face pinned to the wall. He leaned close to the growling sniper. 

"Did you forget about me?" the spy growled back, a hint of a flirt on his tongue. The grunt of the sniper trailed off into a soft whine. It was music to his ears. He chuckled darkly in response, shoving the blade into his back, automatically assuming the form of the aussie. It all happened in a second, as quickly as he could do it. The spy stepped back and glanced in the direction of the spawn, as he hadn't seen the pyro leave just yet. The reason was made clear; the pyro was standing in the doorway, a hand raised to cover the filter of their mask in a gesture of surprise, staring directly at the spy. 

They had seen it all. 

Truthfully, the spy felt a twinge of embarrassment. He had gotten caught up in psychological warfare and didn't exactly think about how a compromising position like that looked from the outside. The allure of affecting someone so thoroughly had been irresistible. He activated his invisibility and slunk away in shame. Still, the sound from that sniper flowed through his brain honey-sweet; the power to cause that was far too satisfying.

And still, the pyro stood a moment more, thinking to themselves.  

          With the sniper thoroughly messed with, the match was quickly taken by the BLU. He had respawned in a red-faced slump, and despite his best efforts, couldn't land very many hits after that. The spy took that as confirmation of his hypothesis. The BLU team secured the payload and celebrated with final charged kills in the moments before transport, watching the bomb drop. 

The teams were teleported back to their bases. RED team exchanged "good game"s and "we got 'em next time"s, while the BLU nearly rioted at spawn. A few hands found themselves at the BLU spy's back, thanking him for distracting that pesky sniper so well. He took it in stride, with a humble chuckle and a wave of his hand. The teams then dispersed into their nightly routines. The BLU spy drove his porsche back home, feeling much better than he had the night before. The RED sniper thought to stay at the base again, feeling that he needed a shower. He still felt a bit off about his stitches, but he wanted to stand under the running water and at least scrub his armpits.

And so, he did. He turned on the cool water to wash off the heat of the day. With eyes shut he stripped, trying his hardest not to brush against the raised scars across his torso. He didn't want to think about them right now. In fact, there was something else he very much wanted to think about. 

What the bloody hell had that spy done to him? Twice pinned against the wall, and both times the sniper had been reduced to nothing but a ravenous hard-on and weak knees. He couldn't work like that! And he was sure the spy was aware and using that to his advantage; that second time was purposefully risqué, he was sure. Mundy had never really given the world of sexual events much thought at all. He'd never found himself interested in it. But now, he felt himself shoved into the deep end of it, and to be into knives of all things? He'd be in complete disbelief if he didn't feel a twinge of excitement deep in his abdomen when he thought of the sensation of that cold steel on his throat...

The aussie shut off the water, well-rinsed and partially scrubbed. He would think on these discoveries overnight. He had to get more comfortable, stronger against them. The spy had used that to his advantage for the last time. He stepped out from the shower and dried himself off, shuffling out of the bathroom in a white tee, boxer shorts, and some worn-down sandals. As he left the bathroom, he was startlingly met with the figure of the RED spy leaning against the wall of the hallway. The frenchman turned to greet him. 

"Hello, Mick. Finally got your spy, hm?"

"Took me bloody long enough. I even caught him in disguise, seen him work. I should be able to pick him off easier now," the sniper replied, a hint of pride in his voice. The spy chuckled and nodded.

"Tres bon. Zhat man has one technique, that rapid-fire backstab and cloak combo." The spy spoke with a sort of uppity attitude, disapproving of the BLU spy's techniques. "It's boring and overused. Watch zhe fight close enough and he sticks out like a sore thumb." 

The sniper returned a little hm-hm laugh. The spy continued.

"Oh, Ludwig wanted me to tell you, he has something for you. To help with your assignment, he says." 

Mundy cocked an eyebrow. He did feel a little uneasy heading to the medicine wing after last night. It seemingly showed on his face, with the way the spy furrowed his brow slightly.

"Something happen with the doctor? Was that your issue this morning?" 

He received a surprised look in reply, to which the spy chuckled aloud. The sniper stuttered to start.

"How did you-"

"Mundy, please," the spy snickered, "half of my job is reading people. Of course I knew. Plus, you show everything on your face." He motioned with an open hand at the sniper's still incredulous expression before standing straight and turning towards the hallway door. 

"I'll walk you to the door. You want to tell me what happened?" 

The sniper let out a groaning sigh as he followed the spy out.

"It's nothin' serious. Doc checked on my stitches and I freaked out 'cause of it."

The spy raised his eyebrows just slightly.   

"I doubt holding it in is helping you." 

A pause, then a sigh. The aussie's arms crossed and pulled tight. 

"Th' medic said the same thing. Told me I should find someone to talk to." 

"Someone who understands it. You should," nodded the spy, his pace slowing, then stopping at the door of the med room. He watched the sniper's hesitant face. 

"You'll be alright, Mick," he said, with a gentle pat on the shoulder. "You've been through hell and came out shooting. Granted, from five miles away, but shooting nonetheless." 

The support earned him a little smile beneath those concerned brows. The sniper let out a small chuckle as he reached for the door.

"I guess I have. 'Preciate it, mate."   

The spy waved goodbye, waiting until his friend crossed into the room to turn and head for the rec room, where he would pick up Jeremy and head home. Mundy stepped inside. The medic perked up from his desk at the back of the room. On one of his shoulders sat his bloodstained dove, puffed up, presumably sleeping. 

"Hey, doc. Spy told me you've got somethin' for me?"  

"Ah, yes, my friend. Come come, let me show you." He motioned for the sniper to come in as he stood from his seat, holding a thick manila folder. The aussie complied, walking up to the medic's side. He gently rubbed a finger onto the bird's cheek with a little smile before focusing on the folder before him. It was labeled "BLU SPY" in large letters across the front. The sniper paled. 

"I'm sure you remember when I had his head in my possession, ja?" Ludwig chuckled in recollection. He moved to open the folder. "I kept all of my findings here. Now, most of them are scientific and anatomy-related, but I do have some pictures-" 

The sniper's hand stopped his from moving. It was shaking ever so slightly.

"Doc," he began, a look of concern in his eyes as he met the medics', "I can't. This is a breach of privacy to a degree I can't allow, not for me." His face was serious. 

The doctor gave him an incredulous chuckle. "Mundy, listen to yourself. Do you think if he had a file like this for you that he wouldn't look? Look, I even have notes from zheir reattachment surgery, they came in an intel case we got after-"

"Herbert," interrupted the aussie firmly, "I can't. I don't care if he would. I'm not him. And I can't." He pressed his hand harder on the folder, further preventing the medic from prying it open. The medic tutted his tongue.

"Oh, you and your standards. Vell, I won't make you look. But I want you to take it in case you change your mind." He pushed the folder towards the sniper's chest, who grabbed at it to prevent the papers from falling out. "Zhere's good information in there. That's all." 

With that the doctor retreated to his desk, sitting and continuing whatever work he had been doing before the sniper had entered. Mick stood frozen for a moment, holding the bundle of paper to his chest. He was torn; part of him wanted as much information as he could gather about that mysterious mercenary, but the other part of him was screaming about the breach of privacy and the level of disrespect it would be to the spy if he looked. But why did he care? That was his enemy, an assigned target, shouldn't he jump at the chance for any and all information? But he was only an enemy in work, they wouldn't be at each other's throats like that outside the arena. 

He was so deep in thought he hadn't even noticed his feet moving, taking him back to the dorm. He only realized when he threw the file onto his bed with a whump. The corner of a picture poked out of the bottom. He faltered a moment and tapped it back into place, tucked into the folder. Maybe he would sleep on the decision. 

          A few hours before, the BLU spy had made the drive home from his team's base. He entered the house in disguise, as he always did, only pulling out the cigarette tin and de-cloaking after having locked the door behind him. After that, he would usually get out of his work clothes and get comfortable, start cooking and winding down. But tonight, he held the tin even after de-cloaking. He wondered just how accurate those disguises were. What could the sniper be hiding beneath that tacky vest? There was a little knot of excitement deep in the spy's stomach. He was surprised to feel it, almost like he was a teen about to partake in some rebellious act. He marched into his room and stood square before his full-length mirror. The spy flipped open the cigarette tin. Using the interface within, he selected the RED sniper's disguise. He thought vaguely for a moment about if he should be doing it, if that bushman would do the same given the chance. Well, he didn't hide his identity, so the information was basically up for grabs. Having the edge over the opponent's mind on the battlefield was too sweet an opportunity to pass up.

His gloved hand applied the disguise.

In the mirror, he watched a puff of smoke envelop him. Within it, his figure lengthened, his limbs thinned and proportions pushed and pulled. Slightly wider shoulders, longer face. The smoke dissipated and he saw the figure of his assigned target in the mirror, as realistic as the one he had been fighting nose-to-nose just hours ago. A smile curled evilly on his face, and he watched the same emotion spread on that of the sniper in the mirror. God, what a rugged, battle-worn man. The spy leaned in, just observing the mirror before him.

He had dark blue-grey eyes, warmer than his own, that were underlined with whispers of wrinkles. They would deepen, crease and fold when he squinted. His sideburns came down strong and wide, almost to the ends of his ears. His hair was overgrown in the back and, he thought, cut very poorly. He likely did it himself. A gaunt face and a stubbly chin. His body was gangly, padded well with lean muscle, from all that running away from the enemy he did, the spy thought with a chuckle.

"Let's see those embarrassing tattoos, perhaps? Birthmarks, maybe?"

He straightened up and began working at the buttons of his work blazer. The sniper before him did the same to his work overshirt. He slid off the blazer, and he watched the red shirt and vest slide off in the mirror. The sniper wore a white tank beneath his uniform shirt, sweat-stained and nasty, thought the spy. He eyed the raised delts on either side of his arms. No regrettable ink, nothing of note. The spy hummed to himself. Maybe on the chest. He started at the buttons on his own undershirt, watching the man in the mirror mimic the actions, despite the shirt not having any buttons. He snickered to himself. As he slid his shirt off, the disguise module adapted and made the image of the sniper pull the undershirt off, up over his head. The spy had turned to lay his shirt on his bed, then back to the mirror. He stopped.

His eyes scanned the body before him, and his heart sank. Mouth agape in complete surprise, he froze in place, eyes running up and down a multitude of thick, dark scars on the man in the mirror. Down his side, a scar almost a foot long. Along the insides of both arms, scars down just past the elbow. Across his pecs, then down past his belly button. Little striations indicative of hasty suture-work, little sporadic bumps of scar tissue from uneven healing. The air in the room felt stifling. The spy reached for his tin and deselected the disguise. The cloud of smoke left him back to normal, shirtless in his work slacks in the mirror, eyes hard but wide, conflicted. He couldn't use that against him, he couldn't possibly stoop that low. Whatever that bushman had gone through must have been hell. He would understand. The scars looked just like his.

Miles away and hours later, in the RED underground base, the sniper sat up in the dark. He had been trying to sleep for what felt like hours. With two issues whirling around his mind, it was damn hard to fall asleep. He furrowed his brow. That damned file. What could he possibly gather from that? Surely the doctor had unmasked and identified the spy, and that was what he wanted him to see. He couldn't breach his privacy that way, that man kept himself so carefully hidden. He wouldn't partake in the disrespect, the torture he must've gone through during that event. It must've been horrible. Completely separated from your teammates, your friends, bloody hell, your own body. Something so major must've been hell, physically and mentally...much like dying and being reanimated. He sat in the pitch black, wide-eyed.

One picture, just to see if he was right. Nothing about unmasking or legal names or anything. He just wanted to know. Slowly he slid from the bed, bare feet quiet on the cold concrete ground. He stooped to grab the file from under his bed, then walked as quietly as he could muster into the bathroom. He closed the door and flipped the lights on, laying the file on the edge of a sink. He stood for a moment in silence, a hand clasped over his mouth, rethinking his choice. He'd be careful. No breach of privacy.

He flipped the folder and opened it backwards, hoping the doctor had added the reattachment files to the bottom of it all. He turned the pages carefully. Pages of medical diagrams of head and neck anatomy, hastily scrawled over in ink. Sketches of muscle fiber reattachment, nerves and tendons, hand-penned descriptions of what to do, the options they had had. His face held a pained expression he wasn't fully aware of. Under the next page was a polaroid picture, face-down in the file. The sniper's breath hitched in his throat as he hesitated to grab it. He didn't want to risk revealing the spy's identity, simply out of respect. He thought for a moment, then took the polaroid and looked at the back of it, angling it and panning it towards one of the bathroom lights. Through the paper he could make out a head and body, attached, and the spy's dark mask pulled over the head. He sighed in relief, and turned the photo over.

The man in the photo looked dead. Hauntingly thin, so pale he looked almost blue. The picture showed his head and bare shoulders, just below his collarbone. Across his neck, the skin was stained deep yellow with iodine. Curving around the base of it, fresh and raised, was a line of stitches. The sniper didn't breathe. His eyes darted from one thing to the next: the spy's clouded eye, the stitches, his nearly purple lips, the stitches, the line of his shoulder against the metal table below, the stitches. They looked just like his when they had been fresh. He dropped the photo back into the file, face-down as it had been, and closed the folder. Eyes still wide, the aussie was lost in thought. It didn't even occur to him that the reattachment would have left its' own physical scars. Maybe they were more alike than he'd imagined. He would understand.

Mundy crept out into the dark once more, as silently as he could, back into bed. In the fresh black he was unaware of two glassy lenses tracking his every step from across the room. They watched him slide the folder under his bed again, then clamber up and under the covers. The pyro watched a moment more, thinking, before turning over and going back to sleep.

Chapter Text

          The mercs got one day off a week. Today, since he didn't do much outside of work, the sniper had taken up an independent contract, as he would every few weeks. He was awoken bright and early by his gas-masked buddy, having stayed at the base again. Mundy sat up with a drawn out groan to the sounds of a chuckling pyro. Eventually, he hoisted himself up and  trudged into the bathroom, then simply stood, eyes screwed shut, in the harsh light within. God, he was in terrible shape after last night. Once he could finally open his eyes he was met with the disgruntled, disheveled aussie in the mirror, eyes squinting and brows furrowed. All that thinking last night had kept him awake too long, and today there wouldn't be much else to do outside of aiming and more thinking. He brushed his teeth with a hand heavy as lead, mentally preparing himself to go into town today. He needed to scope a vantage point just on the outskirts.

Walking slowly back into the room as he pulled on a lightweight polo, Mundy's eyes settled on the pyro. They were laying on one of the beds, lazily doodling on a scrap piece of paper. He thought for a moment, then spoke thickly through a poorly stifled yawn.

"Oi, what d'ya do on your days off, anyhow?" 

The masked mercenary looked up at him, then wagged their head and shrugged, a gesture of "not much, really."  The sniper hummed. 

"Would y' wanna ride into town for a job with me?" 

The pyro jumped up, looking at Mundy as if in excited disbelief. Mick nodded with a smile, amused at the reception of such a simple question. The pyro scrambled to their feet, standing with a happy little run-in-place. They pocketed their paper and crayons, then bounded up towards the sniper, a hand held up for a high-five. He chuckled and complied. 

"Let's get goin', then."

And the pair walked down the hallway towards the exit ladder, one bouncing the whole way, the other shuffling in his drowsy haze.  

Mick clambered into the driver's seat of his camper with another yawn. God, he was dragging his feet. He needed a lethally strong cup of coffee, he thought. The pyro soon joined him, humming happily and being very careful about putting his seatbelt on. As the van shook and puttered to life, the sniper weighed his options for caffeine. There was the gas station on his way into town, but their drip coffee was weak. Further into town, there was a shopping center he had seen with a cafe moving in...he pulled out from the parking lot onto the road, thinking as pyro started the radio up. He might try them out. The sniper spoke as the glassy lenses of his friend watched him.

"Would you wanna stop at a café on the way? I need some serious caffeine, mate."

The pyro clapped with a little "mmhm!!" and mumbled something about a milkshake before turning to watch the landscape roll by.  Mundy smiled and settled into the seat with a sigh.

          A little ways away, the BLU spy awoke semi-early without the help of an alarm clock, thoroughly refreshed. Unlike his assigned target, he relished his day off, even doing chores with the purpose of relaxing. As he went through the motions of his morning, he considered what to do today. He had groceries to do, dry cleaning to drop off, but ooh, that new bistro had opened up, he'd thought it looked promising. Not many fancy little places around here. Humming to jazz on the record player, he pulled on a long-sleeve linen button-down and pressed black slacks, of course topped off with one of his masks. Not his usual uniform, but he had to keep appearances. Although, it was mostly for himself; he'd be disguised the entire time he was out anyways.

           About a half an hour later the BLU spy had applied his preferred engie disguise and was well on his way into town. He drove with the windows partially down, letting a little breeze into his porsche. The wind smelled fresh. The town drifted by lazily, warm-colored buildings and storefronts fashioned out of wood and textured concrete. He smiled a little, turning the radio up. He loved his days off.

First stop was the laundromat. Dropping off that nasty suit from yesterday (good riddance) was truly a weight off his shoulders. From there, the spy made his way to the bistro just a few minutes drive away. It was a quaint little place with minty green accents and awnings. He parked and sat at an outside table with a content sigh and perused the menu. They had all manner of sandwiches and little pastries, cookies, teas, and coffees. Quite the selection. A minute or so went by as he read, breathing in the smell of delicate floral teas and fresh-baked sweets on the breeze. Then, he heard footsteps approach his table. Two sets, one much fasted than the other... He looked up form the menu just as someone hugged him tightly, the smell of burning rubber and gasoline on the fabric of their suit. An all-too-familiar accented voice met his ears.

"Oi, Dell! Been a minute since I ran into ya!"

The spy froze a moment, staring dead straight ahead before wrangling his mental strength. Putain de merde, what were the odds? Last time he'd heard that aussie's voice it was whining pressed against the wall. It might've sounded better that way, the spy thought with an internal groan. But he had appearances to keep. He smiled, putting on his best southern drawl.

"Mundy! And pyro, hey!" he chuckled, wrapping an arm around the mercenary. "I never see you boys in town, you come in just to try the new café?"

The sniper occasionally ran into the BLU engineer when he visited the town, usually at a convenience or grocery store. He was a kind man and a good conversationalist.

"Nahh," he replied, arms folding in a comfortable stance, "I jus' needed an extra strong cuppa. Hoping they've got what it takes. In town for a job." He rocked on his heels a little as he spoke. He quite liked the company of the southerner. But something was amiss...it was then that the sniper picked up a very familiar scent on the air, cutting through the smoky smell of the pyro and the warm, sweet scent from the bakery. It was floral but sharp, clean...smelled a lot like the cologne he'd smelled on the spook. His eyes widened for a moment with realization, then returned to his prior expression in the hopes of not giving it away. There was a little squint in his eye that hadn't been there before.

Alas, the spy, much like his RED counterpart, had learned to read people, and he very plainly read that he had been sniffed out again in the sniper's micro-expressions. He kept up the façade mainly for the sake of patrons around him, but his eyes said differently. As he patted the back of the departing pyro, they froze over, going hard and cold. A twitch of the brow, a miniscule tensing of the area. Their stares must've resembled that of a wild west showdown. He replied with a smile.

"Well get on in there, I won't keep ya." He chuckled without missing a beat. "I hear they've got a really good French press."

The spy leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on the table with a smile. Those last two words dripped with a manufactured lust, solely intended to fluster the sniper, and damnit, it worked. As much as the aussie tried to hold a straight face, a little red tinge spread to the apples of his cheeks. He cleared his throat and adjusted his hat, stepping towards the door with a hand gesturing the pyro inside. The pyro looked at the sniper, then at the spy. At the sniper, then the spy. Behind that mask was a mind connecting some dots.

"Yeah. Cool, sounds good," he spoke curtly, reaching for the door.

"Oh it sounds good, huh?" the spy called in after him with a laugh. The aussie retaliated with a grumble under his breath, to which the spy replied with a hearty snorting laugh. He hadn't expected it to work that well. Mon dieu, he is entirely inexperienced, isn't he.

A few minutes passed before the pair reappeared. Pyro sauntered out with a picture-perfect, cherry-on-top vanilla milkshake, followed by his sniper, who held a large cup of the darkest brew they had. The spy caught sight of it and his eyebrows flicked upwards in amusement.

"Don't you have a heart attack now, Mick."

Mundy looked back at him, seemingly over his embarrassment (though his cheeks were still pink), and chuckled.

"What, from this? This ain't nothin, I'll be awright," he said with a wave before making his way back to the camper. "I'll see ya tomorrow!" came one last goodbye from the sniper. The pyro waved happily with a little "bye-bye!!" before turning and bounding towards the van. The spy feigned a happy wave before rolling his eyes and sipped at his warm cappuccino. "Oh, awroight, awroight," muttered the frenchman under his breath. What a stupid accent. 

          Just a few miles away, at a quaint cottage-style house, a navy and white Ford pickup joined a pale blue Bronco in the driveway. From behind the creaky metal driver's side door fell one heavy boot, then another. The man in the boots looked up at the house with a hand to his forehead, shading his eyes from the desert sun. A small smile spread across his face. He pulled a large toolbox from the passenger's side of the truck, then walked on up to the door, and knocked politely. 

The knob turned and the door opened, revealing a mountain of a man within the house. He wore a dark knit tee and towered over the Texan on the doorstep, stoic only for a moment before breaking into a wide grin.

"Conagher! Please, join us. Get out of heat." The heavy at the door stepped back and motioned in.  

"Please, Misha," came the smiling voice of the southerner as he stepped through the door, "I keep sayin', just call me Dell." 

"Ah, is habit," replied the Russian as he closed the door, "I am use to calling our engineer Dell." 

"That's right, ain't that somethin'," chuckled the engie.

The pair walked into the well lit living/dining room. At the far left corner, beside the door to the master bedroom, was an array of kitchen appliances. On the right side wall was a wooden cabinet and TV set, facing a leather couch draped in a handmade quilt. The walls were a soft, warm beige, decorated with pictures in wooden frames, hand-painted ceramic plates, and woven wall-hangings. Then, on the floor space to the left was a dining table in rich, red-tinged wood. At the table sat the RED medic, dressed in a white button up and patterned sweater vest. He looked up from the papers in his hand and beamed. 

"Ah!! Good afternoon, Dell. You're ze first one here. Come sit, my friend, it's been far too long." 

Dell smiled and made his way over to the table, dropping his toolbox on the ground at his side. The two chatted happily as Misha listened in from the kitchen, where he was prepping some finger foods for the guests. 

Soon enough, a small beige Volkswagen beetle rolled into the driveway, followed shortly by an older, rusting Chevy pickup.  The RED engineer hopped from his truck, beaming and waving at the BLU medic, who was busy wrangling something out of the passenger side of his car. He looked up and smiled a little back with a polite wave, tugging at a surprisingly large cooler. Esteban rushed over to assist in carrying it, and the two walked to the door and knocked. Misha opened the door again. 

"Oh! Two of you!" he greeted with a smile, then yelled to his medic over his shoulder, "Everyone is here, zaychik." He turned back and motioned his guests inside with a little bow. 

Once the cooler was well situated, the RED engie looked up at the BLU. He raised his arms with a laugh, walking towards him

"Dell, mi hermano, how's it goin'?" 

He draped an arm around the seated BLU engie and squeezed in a half-hug, reciprocated by a chuckle and a wave. 

"Workin' at it, same as always, vaquero," replied the Texan, miming tipping a cowboy hat. The other engie laughed.

"Ooh, been practicing! Muy bien, muy bien." He slumped into an empty chair and waved hello to his medic, who smiled back. The BLU medic followed suit with a nod in greeting, sitting straight beside the hispanic. Herbert sat up and began. 

"So, many things going on. Ludwig, I know you have some organs for further syringe-gun testing, and Esteban has been working on dispenser efficiency, ja?" 

The engineer nodded, starting on about medi-beam strength and ammo dispensary statistics. Dell would nod and add some things on occasion, and conversation took off from there. The four would try to schedule these off-day science and tech meetings, but the past few weeks hadn't been doable. The heavy intermittently dropped off a plate of cheese and crackers, prepared fruit, or some form of dip on the table, occasionally with a peck on the cheek or a quick shoulder rub for his medic. There was chatter about wheat samples that needed testing, the potency and recipes for syringe guns, further teleporter testing. As they spoke, Herbert took notes on a clipboard, and Ludwig in a spiral-bound notebook containing logs of their prior meetings. 

After a good couple of hours of jargon, Herbert took a breath and sighed. 

"Vell! I think that's all the talking points I had written. Any of you three have something else, before ze testing begins?" 

Both engineers shook their heads, but Ludwig stayed quite still, eyes down towards the table. He had a sort of indecisive, pensive look on his face. Herbert noticed this, curiously watching him a moment.

"...Ludwig? You have something?" 

His BLU counterpart looked up for a moment, then away again, wringing his hands below the table. He had been thinking about his spy's struggles, but was it his place to be revealing such information? He didn't have to specify who for, but it wasn't hard to guess. On the other hand, better talking to a team that gets in than a regular stranger. He took a breath before speaking.

"...I might as well ask, it could be helpful, I suppose. One of our teammates," he began, eyes still down, shifting, "is struggling mentally, I think. Trauma responses, debilitating ones. He gets them very strongly."  

Both engineers' eyebrows drooped, with Esteban muttering an "aw, pobre" under his breath. But the RED medic perked. 

"Ooh! Now zhat you mention it, we have someone feeling the same! Our sniper is very self conscious about some old scars, got very worked up about it when I checked them a couple days ago. I told him he should talk to someone about it, you know I'm not very good with matters of ze mind." He motioned an indifferent flutter with a hand and snickered. He spoke of the event very lackadaisically. Ludwig met his eye and looked away again, seeming a little more confident in his decision now. His brow furrowed in thought for a split second, then twitched up with an idea.

"Zhat might work..." He looked up at his RED counterpart. "Do you think we could have them talk to each other?" 

Herbert thought a moment. 

"Depends if their struggles match. I'm assuming they do?" 

A nod from the BLU. "Almost exactly, if not identically." 

The RED medic hummed a response, fixing his clipboard and picking his pen back up. 

"So who is it?"

Ludwig looked away again. Esteban, as uninvolved as he wanted to seem, watched him expectantly. 

"Vell, he wouldn't want me saying, but you'd need to know..."

"So it's your spy," chuckled Herbert, shaking his head softly as he scribbled something down on the clipboard. Ludwig sighed with a small nod. Dell nodded solemnly with him. It made sense, the things he had told him. That spy rarely talked about it, but once or twice, especially with a couple drinks in his system, Dell had helped him through little panicked episodes when the memories came flooding back. He'd thought it might be something like that. Esteban, on the other hand, recoiled slightly in surprise.  

"Your frenchie? Pero what could possibly make a stoic man like that break?" 

He glanced at his medic with the vague memory of a cursing, rattling refrigerator. Herbert was slowly raising a hand with a playful air. 

"Look," he started with a smile, "at least I didn't kill him. I knew he wouldn't respawn if I did. Not to mention I got some good observations during his...stay." He chuckled a little. Esteban shook his head with a sigh. 

"You scare me, compadre. Must've been hell what that man went through." 

The RED medic shrugged slightly while Dell nodded once again. 

"The things he's told me," said the southerner, "it was nothing short of psychological torture. He's had nightmares from it. I haven't seen him without his mask since that day, y'know that, doc?" He turned towards Herbert. "I know we're colleagues of sorts, but I don't well appreciate the way you treated him." He turned, clearing his throat and addressing Ludwig before the RED could respond.

"I think it'll do 'em both good. Those boys have been at each other's throats lately, though," he snickered a little. "I'd be happy to moderate if they need it." 

"Oh, Dell," rebutted the RED engie, "they're grown men. I'm sure they can separate work and personal life like that." 

A shrug and a chuckle before Ludwig piped up again. 

"If we think it'll be good then. I can ask him tomorrow at prep, ja? If I see him before the match."

Herbert nodded. Ludwig gasped softly and continued, rushed.

"Oh, and nobody mentions any of this to anyone else. It's very personal, what we've talked about." He threw a side-glance at Esteban, who chuckled and held his hands up with an "okaay, okay." Dell nodded as well, shortly followed by the RED medic, who stood quickly after.

"So! With all the talk out of ze way, we can get to the physical stuff, hm? You two can drag the cooler outside and ve'll start shooting." He motioned towards his engie and Ludwig. There was a creaking of chairs and dragging of plastic as everyone stood and moved to the little backyard, where they set up and stayed for the next few hours before packing up and heading back home to enjoy the last chunk of their day off.

          The day went by quickly, as days off often do. The sniper's job had gone swimmingly; one less entitled scumbag in town. It didn't even take him more than an hour to nab him. His pyro had been very well behaved; as excitable as they are, they know when to quiet down and watch or partake in some unobtrusive hobby while Mundy worked. And the coffee, it turned out, had been very strong. It kept him awake, but also resisted any attempt he made at covering his coffee-breath. Well, you pick your battles. After the job he had packed up and hopped back on the road, dropping the pyro off at their base for dinner. Mick's own dinner consisted of junk food from his regular convenience store, which he enjoyed after setting up camp at the abandoned hardware store he frequented. He ate sat up on the roof of the camper, watching the sun go down while listening to the stereo within. The breeze was sweet, bringing insect song and nocturnal bird calls. He smiled softly and leaned back on his arms. What a life it was. 

         The spy was back home as well, with his clean suits and groceries. He danced through the kitchen as he cooked, moving in step to the jazz record that played. You wouldn't catch him dead doing it in front of anyone else, but alone? Simple tango and ballet steps flowed freely from the usually uptight man. He might be currently burning his porkchops, but that wouldn't dampen his spirits. He finished up in the kitchen and enjoyed the slightly overcooked fruits of his labor alongside a glass of a strong pinot noir. Sitting at his little dinner table he ate by lamplight, tapping his foot to the music in the air. The spy ended his night in a comfortable armchair with a book and another glass of wine, now with more classical tunes on his record player. Some may think it lonely, but he was perfectly content in his dark little house, dancing to himself. He sighed with a smile, feeling the warmth of the wine on his breath. What a life, indeed. 

Chapter Text

          Before any of them knew it, their night off had flown by. The slow trickle of mercenaries into their bases began. The RED heavy and medic had arrived at theirs quite early, as Herbert had wanted to finish up a bit of research from the day before. Misha trudged into the medic bay behind him, boots barely leaving the ground, and flumped into the waiting chair in the room, almost immediately falling asleep. The medic shook his head with a smile and a tutting chuckle as he began collecting the tools and files for his research. Down the hall, from the entrance chute, came the slow and heavy thumping of boots. The RED demo touched down with a groan and a weak chuckle. The slow steps down the hall, paired with sporadic wet burps and small coughs were indicative of a very hungover man. Upon reaching the doorway to the medic's workshop, Tavish nearly fell into the door frame. Neither party within startled. The medic, in fact, greeted him with a laugh. 

"You look like you had a good night." 

The scot responded with a thick chuckle, brows furrowed heavily as he rubbed his good eye in the incandescent light. God, it made his head pound.

"Ya bloody well know it. That American whiskey knocks me off ma damn feet everytime."  

Herbert shook his head with a chuckle, holding a little test tube sample up to the light. 

"Go and get some electrolytes in your system, Tavish, ve need you at least moderately functional for ze match." He paused to write something on his clipboard. "Zhere should be plenty in the kitchen. And leftovers too, breakfast would do you good." 

A half hearted salute and a muttered aye came from the demo before he stumbled back into the hallway, teetering slightly on his way to the mess hall. He heard happy chatter in the rec room as he passed and thought to double back once he had retrieved some hangover cures from the kitchen. He walked through the dining room doors and was met with his scout, who sat atop the picnic-style table, legs swinging. Jeremy looked up from his breakfast sandwich and laughed a little. 

"Ooh, buddy, ya look like hell," he snickered. In reply came a sarcastic tutting tongue.

"See, 's not what yer mum said last night," the demo snarked back, bracing against the counter, chuckling at the sounds of speechless stuttering behind him. He rifled through the fridge as the scout fumbled to retort.

"Oh, oh yeah? Well I'll have you know I was with my mom all day yesterday," the scout shot back, triumphantly. "Movie marathon. So where were you?" 

The demo took a long swig of a vitamin drink from the fridge, swallowing and shuddering at the taste. He walked on over to the young man and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

"I said night, lad. Were," he burped, "-were you with 'er all night?" 

With a sly smile and a pat on the shoulder he started towards the door. The scout stammered in a weak attempt to reply, leaving the demo to walk out of the room, laughing raucously. 

          Over on the BLU side of things, the sniper and soldier had suffered similar fates. They had staggered in, miraculously making it down the ladder without falling. With an arm wrapped around the other, laughing and groaning, into the mess hall they went to search for something to help with their hangovers. Dell had followed them in, mainly just to watch out for their safety. It made for an entertaining morning, at least. 

A few minutes after the arrival of the drunkards, there came the tapping step of dress shoes down the ladder. The BLU spy emerged from the chute, fixing his hat and starting the walk down the hallway with a hint of a smile on his face. The happiest you'd see him at work was always after a day off. He tap-tapped down the hall in his ivory spats, thinking about having a nice cup of tea in the dining room. This daydream, however, did not last beyond reaching the door to the mess hall. He opened the door and stopped mid-step. 

On the tables lay, yes, lay, his sniper and soldier, stiff as boards on their backs with their heads hanging off the edge of the table. Off in the corner was his engineer, who was doing a terrible job of holding back laughter, with a hand clamped over his mouth and tears in his eyes. The spy turned his head slowly towards the engineer, the purest look of puzzlement on his face, which completely broke the engineer, launching him into a fit of hysterics. 

"Listen," the southerner gasped between hearty laughs, "I tried to tell 'em it wouldn't work." He paused a moment to take in a breath. "They think...that will cure their hangovers." 

"Look, I heard it worked," started the sniper, "and I thought it worth a shot. Th' blood's s'posed to go straight to yer brain and-"

"It is working," interjected the soldier, pointer finger straight up in the air, "the room stopped spinning when I got on the table." 

The engineer was now crouched, damn near collapse, wheezing laughing. The spy took a breath and placed a hand up to his forehead with a defeated sigh. He didn't even want that tea anymore.

          The morning went by as such, and slowly the teams started piling up in their lobbies. Ludwig had run late, arriving with only a few minutes to prepare and gather his weapons. Herbert had to be dragged from his workshop once the Administrator started over the loudspeaker, he was so engrossed in his work. He didn't even see his sniper until he rushed into the lobby with seconds to spare. As such, neither doctor got the chance to suggest their talk-therapy idea. There was a surge of energy within the lobbies, and the teams were teleported. 

The groups spawned, screaming and laughing, at Mossrock arena. With the setup timer running, the RED were booking it to BLU spawn as they often did, most of them to spend their setup time mingling instead of actually setting up. From his post in the wooden structure in front of BLU spawn, the sniper could see the usual groups forming. The engies and medics were huddled by one side of the gate, his demo and the BLU soldier not far off, and the pyros and scouts were...calmer than usual. The RED pyro seemed to be going on about something that the other three were listening to. The sniper shrugged it off as the offense being the offense. They were a strange bunch. 

The RED pyro was, in fact, going on about something, to the complete disbelief of the three listening to them. The BLU scout spoke first, holding an open palm to the gate. 

"Pyro. Buddy. Do ya hear yourself right now? Everything you saw with our spy and your sniper is just our guy being the usual weirdo he is. Got some control complex or somethin'." 

"Yeah," chimed the RED scout with a chuckle, "if he's anything like ours, he's doing all that to psych Mick out. Idn't he tryna kill him off or whatever?"

The other scout nodded in agreement. The pyro folded their arms with a grumble. The BLU pyro simply watched, head tilted. 

"Mhu mmnd' fhee mht MM swhh."

Jeremy laughed and slung an arm around the shoulders of his teammate.

"I know we didn't see it but I'm tellin' ya! I don't think that spy is capable of feeling anything but bloodlust." 

The pyro huffed and shook his head, but their protest was cut short by the booming voice of the Administrator. 

"FIVE!" 

"Oh crap!" went the RED scout, who turned on his heel and bolted to his preferred starting position. The other RED mercenaries that were still at the BLU spawn gates followed suit. The pyro moped for a moment longer. 

"FOUR!" 

They readied their flamethrower and started backing up to their position. The BLU soldier watched them intently, eyebrow cocked beneath his spiked helmet.

"THREE!" 

Truth be told, the BLU soldier had witnessed bits and pieces of the sniper and spy's uh, passionate hand-to-hand matches. That pyro might be onto something.

"TWO!" 

He wanted to interrogate that pyro. Strictly business, of course, he just had to know where his fellow mercenary stood. He loaded his rocket launcher. 

"ONE!"

And so began the carnage. The ubered BLU pyro wreaked havoc on the RED team right out of the gate, catching the RED spy and soldier in his gout of fire, but his medic was taken down shortly after the invulnerability wore off, and the pyro was quick to go at the hands of a speeding scout. Good to know their friendship didn't stop them from doing their jobs. 

The RED sniper racked his rifle after killing off the medic and watched the group leaving the base for a moment. He thought he might be able to catch the BLU spy making his rounds. There was a rotating congregation of bloodshed a little ways from the gate, rockets, bombs, bloodcurdling screams and shouts, but amidst the chaos, the sniper began to notice heads disappearing. With a sharp inhale and a speedy scope, he watched a RED medic backstab and promptly shapeshift into the RED pyro. His finger twitched at the trigger. The visage of the pyro turned and laid eyes on the barrel glinting above him, pointed directly at his head. He took the shot, and the body of the BLU spy suddenly took the place of his teammate's with a shout of pain and surprise. He chuckled happily and cocked the gun again.

"Can't get up close if I don't let ya, spook," he mumbled to himself with pride. The sniper took a swig from his thermos and continued his rampage, targeting the BLU engineer next. About a minute went by, then he noticed that same pattern as before; all of a sudden, the heads of his teammates one by one, dropping like flies, disappearing almost. He snickered, singling out the source, now disguised as his heavy. He held his breath, watching the the arm of the massive man come up over his head, in preparation to backstab another unlucky RED. An idea struck. With an utterly miniscule recalculation, a split second decision, the sniper shot at the hand just as it started to come down. The well timed attack and a failed backstab left the BLU spy exposed, undisguised, within a writhing mass of RED opponents. Mundy watched as the spy shrieked and clutched at his mangled hand, turning instinctively to look at the source of the shot in what he knew would be his last moments. There was no hope of defending himself. Just before the brightly-colored bat descended hard upon his skull, the BLU spy locked eyes with the red sniper above, his assigned target whom he was so sure he was dominating, and watched him point and laugh from his post. He could hear that stupid wheezing guffaw loud and clear, right before his brain was turned to mush by hollow aluminum. 

The sniper allowed himself a little celebratory jig. He might have two left feet, but that kill had felt too good. He just KNEW that spy was pissed. He took a knee once again, still chuckling as he picked up his rifle. Now he'd have to be more careful about spy checks; no doubt that snake would be out for blood now.  

A few seconds later, the BLU spy reappeared at spawn, brows furrowed. The frenchman muttered curses to himself, a curled finger pressed against his lips as he paced the room. He couldn't lie, that had been a clever move. Impressive too, to hit his hand just late enough to de-cloak him? Mid-motion? A professional indeed. He wasn't the best suited for an open-concept map like this, the sniper had all the advantage, unless he could distract him well enough or avoid his eye, but it seemed the damned bushman was picking up on his moves. He might recruit the help of his teammates once again. 

Just as he considered, as if meant to be, the BLU soldier respawned beside him. He was already brandishing his shovel with a screaming battle cry, almost immediately breaking into a full sprint, eager to return to battle. The spy hummed.

"John?" 

The soldier skidded to a stop with a surprised hooh-! of a grunt. He turned to face the spy. 

"This better be important, frenchie. I could be snapping necks right now and yours is the closest one."

The spy retorted with an half-hearted scoff, then went on. 

"Did you happen to see the RED sniper's post, soldier?" 

He thought for a moment, then nodded. 

"He's got his little coward's camp above the way to the point. This about him again?" He grumbled with a sly smile, cracking his knuckles. He thought of what he'd heard the RED pyro say earlier. The spy nodded. 

"I just need him distracted, mon ami. Hard to, eh, snap necks when he can shoot you from five miles away, oui?"

The soldier lit up and delivered a hearty punch to the spy's shoulder with a triumphant laugh. 

"Now THAT is the spirit, maggot! I will do everything in my power for you to get to that filthy coward's neck!" 

The spy responded with a strained smile, but the soldier was none the wiser, as he had taken up his shovel again and began sprinting onwards, laughing maniacally.  He quickly took up his own scout's visage as a disguise and ran from their spawn, to the tune of the soldier's "CHAAARGE!!"

Out into the daylight and bloodshed of mossrock they sped, eyes towards the building the sniper had been squatting in. The structure had a window in the middle, a little overpass above the path leading to the first point, then an entrance to the left and the right. The soldier shot a rocket into the middle window where the sniper had been shooting from, just off-course, then ran towards the left-hand entrance while the spy booked it quietly through the right. The aussie paled and dipped behind the wall, trying to dodge the shrapnel of the blast. He heard the soldier's heavy footsteps on the wood behind him and whirled around with a surprised shout, jarate in hand. The soldier chortled and reared his shovel, acting normal as he could, but paying close attention to how the spy behind the sniper acted. 

"Prepare to eat metal, Sheila!!" 

Mundy raised the jar, but the shovel came down too slowly, and suddenly the jar had been knocked from the sniper's hand. Before he could turn to face his disarmer, he felt a satiny hand clasp his jaw from behind, gripping forcefully, then another knocked his hat off and clutched the top of his head. He couldn't reach his machete.

"How does this one make you feel, bushman?"

The voice of the BLU spy floated from behind him, just above a whisper, once again laden with lust. A wave of goosebumps appeared at the sniper's neck at the sensation of the breath from behind. He twitched and shuddered in surprise, but the reaction was cut short by the violent motion of the hands that held him. They whipped off to the sides, jerking the sniper's head clean around. His face still wore that shocked expression, pale except for the apples of his cheeks, tinted pink. The spy dropped the body with a laugh, a true, hearty laugh, then shook his arms out. 

"I must admit, snapping necks is harder than it looks. I commend you." He straightened his tie and looked up at the soldier.

The soldier watched him back, frozen still except for a slowly lowering shovel, mouth slightly agape. 

"...yeah," replied the soldier. Truth be told, he had never seen the spy smile so earnestly. Somehow, he doubted the spy had enjoyed snapping the sniper's neck enough to cause that, that couldn't be the only thing. Maybe the satisfaction of the kill, but even so, it was more than he'd ever seen from the uptight man. That pyro was right.

His train of thought was quickly derailed by a grenade coming in through the window. He rejoined the battle below, escaping the awkward break, jumping in with the blast from the grenade. The spy followed suit, a little perturbed by the soldier's reaction, or lack thereof. 

The battle continued as usual. The RED held the BLU back pretty well, but they did eventually make it to the first control point. The fight for control was a strong one. The sniper had regained a post just past the point, watching and checking for the spy in between shooting down medics and demos. The BLU soldier was fighting, sure, but his mind was formulating a plan on meeting the RED pyro. Finally that hangover had given way and he could think a little clearer. He needed that information on his fellow fighter, since the spy surely wouldn't tell him himself.  He watched for the masked maniac as he shot his rockets and ran towards the point, hoping the bloodshed and sweet sounds of battle would distract his team and the opposing when he disappeared with the pyro. 

The red pyro, entirely unassuming, had entered the habit of covering the point and shooting fireballs at any approaching enemy. It got them killed quite often, but it did cause a good handful of assist kills. What mattered is that it prevented the capture of the point. They reappeared at spawn and happily took up his jetpack, leaping through the air over to the control point. A quick landing and switch-out and they were blasting balls of fire at anyone in his way. Through his lenses he watched skin melt, char, then flake away, first the BLU scout, then the BLU sniper. A giddy laugh as they were joined by their heavy and medic, who shouted praises and battle cries as they passed him to get to a congregation of BLU on the other side of the point. Now low on flamethrower fuel, the pyro opted for their powerjack as he turned and started towards the hallway leading to the point. He didn't get very far. 

There was a grunt behind the pyro, just before a body fell into them from behind, quickly followed by a strong arm wrapping around his neck and pulling him down, down onto the ledge below the control point platform. He thrashed in its' grasp, voice further muffled by a hand over the exhale valve of their mask. The attacker spoke in a rushed whisper. 

 "Private! This is John Doe, soldier of the Builder's League United. I will release you if you agree to comply with my demands!" 

The pyro cried out again, struggling still. The soldier held fast, not tight enough to harm, but enough to prevent them from escaping. 

"Do not be alarmed! I heard you had information on my spy and I would like to hear it!" 

His last statement seemed to flip a switch within the pyro. He stopped struggling at once and replied with a very muffled "really?", to which the soldier nodded, his grip relaxing just slightly. The pyro jumped against the body and clapped excitedly, allowing the soldier to hum in approval and relax his arms, releasing the enemy before him. The masked mercenary turned on their heel, extending a gloved hand to shake in symbol of a truce, however temporary it may be. The soldier found this to be in order and shook it strongly, then found himself pulled by the hand along the ledge, to a less populated area of the map. Once the pyro was satisfied, he released the hand and turned to face him, eagerly awaiting orders. The soldier chuckled gruffly. 

"Good spot you got here, hippie. Now, what's this you were saying about my spy?"

The pyro clasped his hands together excitedly. The soldier listened intently to the merc's recollection of the Badwater battle with a furrowed brow, chin pressed into his hand. Mainly he was trying to decipher the happy mumbles of his enemy. They went on about prolonged moments pinned to the wall, smiles and sarcasm, mockery, even their exchange at the café yesterday. More than either of the spy and sniper usually gave. More than the soldier himself had witnessed. He hummed in thought. 

"Pushed against the wall, you say?"

"Uh huh." 

"And he never kills immediately?"

"Mm-mnh."

The soldier scratched at his chin. "Veerrrry strange. That frenchie doesn't hesitate when he fights. I watched him do the same thing today, yaknow, just now." He eyed the pyro from beneath his helmet. "Like he was sweet-talkin' your camper."   

Pyro lit up, bouncing on his feet and flapping their hands excitedly. The soldier arched an eyebrow with a thoughtful look. 

"So you think there's something going on there?" 

A gleeful nod in return. The soldier thought a moment more.

"Hm. Maybe getting laid can take that stick outta the spy's ass. If I can have a RED buddy, I don't see why they can't. I will help you set them up, sister." 

He held out a straight hand for the pyro to shake, who laughed with delight and shook it firmly. The soldier nodded and smiled. 

"Now, get back out on the battlefield, maggot! You got five seconds before this boot makes it back to your ass!" 

The pyro saluted the enemy and booked it from their hiding place, grabbing their flamethrower and hopping eagerly back into the slaughter. 

As they talked, BLU had taken the point. The battle went on, push and pull between the two teams, until the BLU delivered a final push and captured the last point. Post-battle chaos, then the teleport back, and so began the usual evening routines. The BLU spy had gone home shortly after teleport, as he often did. Ludwig didn't get much of a chance to ask him about talking to the sniper. 

          Back at the RED base, Misha, Dell, and Mundy had taken to the weaponsmithy for general gun maintenance. Even instruments of war need tuning. They worked in comfortable quiet, on occasion asking the other for a rag or some cleaning solution, sometimes Dell would crack a joke and the three shared a laugh aloud. From the corridor beyond came muffled speech as their teammates passed the door on their way out. The metal shifted and clinked on the tables, the occasional clanking and frustrated huffing from the engineer, the smell of metal oil faint on the air. 

Time passed and the three were nearly done with their duties. All had left but the trio and the medic in his workshop. Mundy was giving his bushwacka blade a final wipe-down as Dell stood from his crouched position at the foot of a sentry gun, stretching his back with a groan. The door swung open and there appeared the medic, folders in hand. 

"Hallo, team," he greeted all with a smile, then turned to his heavy and said "I am all finished up, mein barchen." The three waved and returned the greeting as Herbert took note of who all was in the room. He realized with a little oh! that it might be the perfect time to recommend talking to the spy, since the other two knew about it already. He turned to the sniper. "I had somezhing to suggest to you, Mick." 

The sniper paused the practice swings of his fresh blade to look at the doctor. 

"Yeah? Wha's that?" 

"So ze science team had their meeting the other day, and Ludwig brought up zhat a member of BLU is having similar struggles to yours, with ze scars and all." He spoke with a smile and gestured up and down towards Mundy's abdomen. The sniper faltered and glanced at his teammates behind him. He didn't exactly want this information getting out. But the medic chuckled. 

"Oh don't worry, they were there, they know already." 

The sniper relaxed a little, holstering his machete with a sigh and leaning against the table. 

"Awright. So y'want us to talk it out 'n get to feelin better about it?" 

"If you would be interested, yes." The doctor nodded and adjusted his papers. "Although," he said with a chuckle, "ze choice of mercenary could be better timed." 

The aussie cocked an eyebrow. He thought a moment. Better timed? What could that mean? How could timing be better with forming a relationship with an enemy-

An enemy.

His eyes widened. 

"Is it-"

"Ze BLU spy, yes." Herbert finished, nearly giggling with amusement. "Isn't it perfect? What are zhe odds!" 

Mundy brought a hand to his mouth in disbelief, but furrowed his brow. It made sense. The similar experiences, similar scars left, near identical workplaces and occupations. They hadn't yet had one civilized conversation, but they had so much in common by default. It could work. 

The medic could practically see the cogs turning in the aussie's mind. He chuckled as the heavy walked over and placed a hand on the doctor's shoulder, nodding to say I'm done. Herbert spoke again.

"Give it some thought, my friend. We really think it could work." He smiled, turning to walk from the room with his heavy in tow. 

"Auf weidersehen!" 

And the door closed, leaving the sniper and engineer in the now quiet room. Mundy turned to the engie, looking for a second opinion. Dell had just finished packing his toolboxes. He stood and looked back at him. 

"Mira," he started with a sigh, "I know it'll be weird or awkward at first, just with how the two of you are, but it's better than holdin' it in." His eyes were earnest and caring. "Their Dell and me would be happy to sit in a couple times if you need support, hermano." A sympathetic smile punctuated his words. Mick felt himself relax ever slightly. He took a deep breath.

"Honestly speakin'? I think I could do it. It would help. I jus' don't know if the spook'll be up to it, is all."

Chapter Text

          The rising sun shone warm on the BLU soldier's face the next day. He leaned against the wall of the above-ground base front, still catching his breath from his workout. Most mornings he had a little routine, a simple bodyweight workout as the sun came up. It takes a lot of physical effort to lug a rocket launcher around all day at full speed. Usually the BLU demo would join him, sometimes his scout and sniper. They had already finished and gone back inside to prepare for the battle, have breakfast and whatnot. But today, the soldier stayed out a while longer. He watched the road before him with a smirk, forming a plan. 

A few miles down the road was the BLU spy, taking his easy drive to work. He quite liked the drive; it was all sand and shrub and rock, calm. He didn't enjoy being out there in that environment half as much as he liked looking at it, but the pay was good enough. His windows were cracked just barely to bring a little breeze in, and there was sweet, bright jazz flowing from the car's speakers. The RED sniper appeared in his mind, conjured by some subconscious thought. He scoffed to himself. That bushman probably loved being out in that arid heat. Nothing but land and sky, with sweat and sand in every wrinkle of your body. The spy shuddered with the mere thought of that sensation. No, he was much more of a city man outside of work. He snickered at the thought of the sniper, misplaced in the city that he was so comfortable with. Forced to trade his grubby work shirt for a pressed button-up and slacks, having to tame his hair and shave for once. For sure he'd cuff his sleeves at the elbows, flushed and awkward in the face...and then his train of thought was interrupted. As he pulled into the dusty little parking lot, he caught sight of his soldier leaned up against the storefront. He turned the car off and stepped out, straightening up with an eyebrow cocked. The soldier crossed his arms and smiled at him as the frenchman approached.

"Good morning, John," started the spy, reaching for the door.  

"Good morning, crouton!" he greeted back, placing a hearty hand on the shoulder of the spy. "You ready to kick some Australian ass?"

A furrowed brow in response.

"...yes? I always am?" 

"Good!" replied the soldier, energetic as always as he followed the spy into the storefront. "I want to help you get your hands on that camper!" 

The spy continued through the motions of getting into work, just with the soldier hot on his trail this time. He opened the hatch to the bunker and began his descent as he replied.

"You've helped me twice before, soldier, if I need your help, I'll ask you." 

The soldier started down, stepping alarmingly close to the spy's hands on the ladder rungs. The spy huffed under his breath, brows drawn low and tense once more, and sped up just enough to stay out from under those boots. 

"You don't ask enough. I will help you more!  And today's an easy map for him anyways." 

The frenchman rolled his eyes. He knew damn well that arguing with the soldier wouldn't get him anywhere. He might as well concede. 

"If you must," he spoke curtly, muttering connard under his breath as his feet touched solid ground. He tutted his tongue, fixing his sleeves and collar as he turned down the hallway, not waiting for the soldier. His teammate, however, was undeterred. He jogged a moment to catch back up. 

"What's that?"

The spy looked at him, clearly frustrated. It seemed the soldier didn't notice, and if he did, he did not care.

"If you must, I said. I can't stop you." 

"Noo, after that. It was something French." 

"Oh," went the spy, hiding amusement beneath his deadpan expression as he faced forward again. "Connard. It's a term of endearment. Like comrade." The word, in fact, meant something a little closer to asshole.

"Well how nice!" replied the soldier, entirely unassuming, again with a strong pat on the back. "Now let's get ready to kick some asses!" 

The spy sighed, reaching for the locker room door. 

"Oui, let's." 

           It was about this time that the RED sniper was arriving at his base. He shouldered his bag and slid from the driver's seat, walking on up to the convenience store front. He opened the door and entered the store, blinking in the sudden black around him. His eyes adjusted, and he jumped backwards with a startled gasp. In the dim, dusty dark of the store, he noticed two shining lenses watching from the opposite corner, almost impossible to see, but his sharp eye caught the glint of glass and metal. The lenses tilted slightly as he sighed and stepped in. 

"Nearly gave me a bloody heart attack, fireball," he spoke with a breathy laugh. "Wha's that creepin' about?" 

The pyro giggled and waved at hearing his voice, bouncing in step up to the aussie. They rocked on their heels, watching him open up the hatch. 

"Mm wnna hmp wffh th ffpy!"

Mundy chuckled a little as he adjusted his bag and squatted to start down the ladder.

"Help with 'im? Y' already do, mate, just keep it up with the spy-checking n'all."

The pyro hopped on the ladder after him, careful in placing their feet. 

"Mmnyfng mff mm cn dhh?" he asked, looking for other ways to help.

"Well, not really, py. Wouldn't wonna stop ya from fightin' yer own fight." 

A thoughtful hum in reply as they climbed down, the thudding sound of boots on the rungs echoing in the metal tunnel. The two reached the ground and the sniper hopped off, holding up a hand to help the pyro down. The pyro saw the look of an idea on his face as they took his hand and stepped off the ladder.

"Hey," started the sniper, thinking, "Y'ever try airblastin' 'im? Pushin 'im around like that might throw 'im off. Lets me get the jump on him, eh?" 

The merc raised a hand to the mouth of their mask in a gesture of surprise. That was a good idea! Maybe then the sniper could be the one to pin the spy down. What a fun little power play...

The pyro nodded happily as the pair approached the mess hall. The thermos at sniper's hip had been empty far too long. They pushed through the door to find Dell enjoying his breakfast inside. He looked up with a happy oyee!! and beamed, flinging an arm open, which the pyro immediately dove for. He took them in a warm hug and nodded at the sniper. 

"Buenas, Mick. I was wondering where esta chica had been."

Mundy nodded back in greeting, making his way to the coffee machine.

"Yeh, they were waitin' for me up top. Spooked me half to death in the store," he chuckled. The coffee machine whirred from the counter. Dell chuckled a reply, giving the pyro a pat on the head as he sat beside him.

"That's py for ya. Oye, ready for another round at 2fort?" 

"Easy match, always is," sighed Mundy, shaking his head. "Too easy, honestly. 'M almost glad I've got that spy to keep me on my toes." 

"Ya lo se, we get 2fort matches like twice a week. What does the Admin see in that place?"

"Who's to say," chuckled the sniper, taking an eager sip from his now steaming thermos. "We'll see if it's any different today." 

          The morning flew by and before any of them knew it, the battle had begun. The RED soldier shot at the ground and jumped with the force from the balcony, followed closely by their pyro who dropped to the ground below. Mundy skirted the chaos, running across the balcony to set up in his usual corner. Sometimes the routine was nice, honestly. And 2fort was one of the easier maps for him, with a crate to sit on and one position to stay in. Popping a piece of cinnamon gum, he took up his rifle and settled into the usual. 

On the BLU side, the spy held back just a second after transport. He watched the soldier charge past him with a raucous war cry, and the frenchman breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed he had forgotten about trying to help, at least for now. He'd take any chance he had. A quick disguise as his own scout and he bolted out with the group, turning down the stairs and towards the bridge between, dodging the falling body of the BLU sniper. There was a bubbling spot of deep red growing in the center of his forehead. Already out to play, it seemed. He zig-zagged down the bridge and up close to the RED side, out of sight of the sniper. He cloaked with invisibility, changing his disguise to the RED scout under that cover, then bolting and removing the invisibility once he was within the walls. As close to untraceable as you could get, he thought with a smirk. And yet, there were eyes on him.

Atop the bridge was his own soldier, who was only half focused on fighting the RED. He had mainly been watching the movement of his spy, and upon witnessing the infiltration, belted a Screamin' Eagles! that could be heard 'round the entire map. Not an unordinary thing for him, but for someone else, it was a signal. He watched the RED balcony, making sure to shoot and move around while he did. It was risky business staying up there. 

The RED pyro excitedly poked their head out from behind the balcony wall upon hearing the call, glued to the bridge roof where the soldier stood. They watched as he tapped his head with a flat, open hand, then held a curved hand near his ear and turned once, twice; "hat," then "radio." The scout. The pyro perked and saluted, retreating behind the wall. The soldier dropped from the roof, exhaling in relief before continuing the fight with eyes on the balcony. Their plan was in motion. The pyro booked it back into spawn, listening close from just outside the range of the door. It was only a couple of seconds until he heard quick sprinting steps past the door. The spy. He darted out just after, watching the "scout" round the corner. 

The spy thought he had played it perfectly. The sniper was alone, focused, unassuming. He'd move in, backstab, then onto the next unlucky RED. He readied his blade, mere feet from his target. As he closed in, knife in the air, the sniper paled and jerked upwards, standing and diving to his left, where the spy stood. The spy's attack missed, coming down and embedding instead in the sniper's shoulder. A rocket projectile blew past them, shattering and exploding against the wall behind. He may have dodged the rocket, but he slammed directly into the spy, who stumbled with the force of the impact. Mundy recovered quickly with a pained shout, grabbing his machete from its' holster. The spy regained his footing, and, brows furrowed in frustration at his ruined plans, reached for his revolver. But Mick smiled. 

A forceful blast of air from behind shoved the spy forward. He yelped in surprise as the sniper closed the gap and redirected the force, slamming the spy against the wall with his forearm across the frenchman's neck. The revolver clattered to the ground. He looked at the aussie with a touch of surprise, but returned to his usual ferocity almost immediately, grunting as he struggled against the arm. He smelled cinnamon on the sniper's breath as he chuckled. 

"Now I see why you like doin' this so much," growled the sniper, low and gravelly in the little air between them.  He looked down into the eyes of the spy, pressing the tip of the blade to his chest, turning the hilt in his hands, teasing the kill. The spy's breath caught in his throat. He felt his heart rate spike. Qu'est-ce-?

"Sneak around this, ya snake," he whispered, laughing as he reared, then drove the blade in deep, cracking through ribs and tendons and muscle, right through the heart of the spy. 

With a fading groan, the spy's eyes rolled back and his body went limp. The sniper yanked the blade back out, bracing with his arm still on the spy's neck, and let the body fall. With a huff he ducked back behind the wall, then gripped the dagger still lodged in his shoulder, tearing it out of the muscle with a hissing grunt. He tossed the knife onto the corpse before him, then looked up and shot his pyro a thumbs-up. The pyro in question had been jumping and clapping excitedly in the opposite corner of the balcony, ecstatic at the plan working out. They held two thumbs up in reply before taking up their flamethrower and running back out into battle. The sniper chuckled, a proud smile on his face as he turned and walked into the locker room beside him for some health. 

Just like that, the spy respawned, one arm across his chest, the other leaning on it, supporting the hand that was clasped around his lower face. His heart was still pounding. What the hell was that? It was like an orchestrated ploy against him. He could think that rocket was just an ill-timed shot, but the airblast from behind instead of the usual fireball? That was purposeful. That was just to give the sniper an advantage, and putain did he take it. Nobody had ever done that to him. That bushman was a different person entirely once he had the upper hand. The scout and heavy came and went with little more than a strange look in the spy's direction. He stayed. He'd have to look out for that pyro more than usual, now that they were coordinating counter-attacks. Invisibility might be the way to go. He'd have to move slower, but at least they wouldn't get the jump on him like they had. As he thought, his demo respawned. He noticed the spy and lingered for a moment. 

"Aye, you alright, brother?" 

The spy didn't move but met his eye, and his brow softened slightly. He looked back down. 

"Somewhat so. I feel as though my assigned target is planning with others against me. I have to change up my techniques." 

As he finished speaking, the Administrator started over the speaker about RED capturing the intel. The demo hummed in thought. 

"Ye wanna try capturin'? Somethin' different. Maybe a technique'll come to ya." He placed a friendly hand on the spy's shoulder, which seemed to finally unfreeze him. He lowered his arms and stretched his back, nodding. 

"Oui. That may help, I don't do that often."

"That's it. I'll distract 'em so ye can get down there. Sewer or base?" 

The spy slowly turned towards him, a look of anguished disgust on his face. The demo cackled gruffly.

"Alright, alright, base it is." 

The two set off, running up down to the front of their base. The demo turned to him with a determined smile. The spy nodded, returning the smile, and activating his invisibility. The two sprinted down the bridge.

"LEEET'S DO IITTT!!" 

The demo charged ahead, and was soon accosted by his RED counterpart and their heavy. He put up a good fight as the spy ran on, squatting behind a wall to regain his cloaking meter once he reached the RED base. At the opposite corner was the RED engineer's nest, unoccupied at the moment. The spy chuckled to himself. Easy prey. He ambled to the other side, dodging a bolting scout, then de-cloaked and sapped the sentry in one smooth motion. He cloaked again and ran for the entry to intel. After running up the stairs and entering the tunnel he crouched still for a moment to regain the charge once more. But that wouldn't help now; in that tight corridor, just up ahead, was the RED pyro making their way back up. He rolled his eyes, groaning. He didn't have patience for this. The pyro came further up, and the spy moved forward, drew his revolver, and shot.

BANG! 

"MMMPH!!"

Click.

BANG!!

And the pyro flew backwards, crumpling into a heap on the floor. The spy continued with a sigh, cloaked again. Slowly down, around, and right for the intel. He stopped right before it. This was the uncomfortable part. After this it was just running. No disguise, no invisibility. He would keep a weapon drawn. He reached for the briefcase. 

"Alert! The BLU team has taken the intelligence!"

The RED sniper cranked off another shot, watching the BLU demo flop backwards from the headshot. He racked his rifle and grumbled at the announcement. The open arena below was pretty clear of targets, maybe he'd catch this sneaky BLU on their way back up. He stood from his crate and positioned himself behind the wall to watch the exit points along the balcony. He held a jarate in preparation. Sure enough, from the ramp that had just been behind him came the BLU spy, his dagger raised in hand, evidently prepared to stab the sniper's exposed back. Not this time. 

The sniper was surprised for a split second, but he wasted no time. Lunging with a grunt, his open left hand caught the armed hand of the spy. The frenchman cried out in surprise, but quickly grew enraged.

"You again! Repulsive man!" shouted the spy, pushing back on the attack. 

"You don't know the half of it!" 

And the sniper threw the jar at the ground between them, catching them both in the splash, as if he cared. His current dance partner, however, definitely cared. His eyes grew wide.

"EEUUUAGHH!!"

He tried to pull away, digging his heels into the sodden wood for friction, but the friction wasn't enough. 

He slipped. 

The sniper held his grip, but soon found that it was taking him down with the spook. The two fell, bodies colliding hard on the balcony ground. The briefcase dislodged from the back of the spy, and his dagger clattered across the ground. The sniper caught himself with his arms, hands pressed to the ground on either side of the spy's head, left hand still gripping the spy's right. He had landed on one knee with his other leg splayed straight out behind him. And the spy? Pinned by the hips, flat on his back. 

Held down by the sniper's legs around him. 

There was a beat of stunned silence, after which the sniper wasted no time flushing deep red in the face. The spy, upon taking in their predicament, let his head drop to the ground with a thud and a sighed mon dieu. He pinched the bridge of his nose as the sniper stuttered helplessly, angling and shifting atop the spy as he tried to get his other leg beneath him.

"That- that's unfortunate there, mate, I didn't- I didn't expect-" 

"Just kill me."

"-right."

So he did, a swift execution with his machete. He sat frozen for a moment, still in shock, before thinking of getting out of the compromising position he was in. Staggering back up to his feet and into the nearby locker room, he covered the front of his pants as inconspicuously as he could. The door closed behind him and he heard someone else pick up the intel and run off with it. He could have stopped them, but he needed a moment. God, hopefully they hadn't seen that. His mind was racing. He sat on the bleacher-type bench, face red, breathing hard. Unfortunately, something else was also very hard. Why here? Why now? He wasn't well versed in the ways of sex and arousal, not versed at all, really, but this was not the place or time. What the hell was it? The action? The person? He truly hoped not. Mundy had never felt physical attraction so strongly. Maybe it was just a natural response. That must be it. He didn't know enough about the spy to like him in any romantic sort of way. He couldn't like him that way. Just hormones, that's it, a natural bodily response.

The BLU spy had respawned. Within the blink of an eye, he was seated in a corner, on the floor, legs tucked as tightly as possible, with his head in his hands. One hand moved just slightly, enough to fiddle with the wristwatch on his left and cloak him. There he sat for a few minutes, thinking through what had just happened. What an embarrassment!! He prayed to anyone who would listen that no one else had witnessed...that. Again his heart raced and his face was hot, obviously from the fall and the nature of the position, he thought. Aftereffects of adrenaline is all. Certainly that was also to blame for the stiffness in his pants, too. He didn't linger on that thought for too long. A few more deep breaths and he pushed off from the ground, standing up and straightening his tie. He approached the door and sighed. Maybe he'd just hang around his own base for now. 

The fight continued, and the RED pushed ahead, with two captures against the BLU's single one. The sniper had calmed and even started landing shots again. Every now and again he'd travel down to the bottom windows, just for a challenge, a change of scenery. Very often he'd whip his bushwacka around, just in case of any lurking spies. A couple of times he was taken down by the BLU, even once by their own sniper. But now he was back up on his crate, watching his team fight. His pyro struck the BLU scout with a fireball, but was quickly outnumbered via the addition of their medic healing the scout, and the demo charging in. Mundy quickly aimed his rifle, taking out the medic and, soon after, injuring the scout. Now that was a hard target.

The BLU spy had been stalking around his base, protecting the intelligence from within. He felt the pressure, though. Once that second RED capture announcement rang out, he felt the need to land at least one kill on that damn sniper. Hiding beneath the stairs at his base, he easily  backstabbed an unknowing RED scout as he tried to gun it for the tunnel to the intel. Yes, he thought, through the screams of the scout, one more try. He would pull out all the stops, cloak and disguise, make for an easy backstab. No fancy hand-to-hand this time. And on his way he went. 

Across the field invisible, ducking behind the enemy lines to regain cloaking. He watched the RED pyro and soldier breeze past him, entirely unassuming. Disguise to RED scout, bolt up the stairs, he even passed the RED heavy and medic on his way with no suspicion. Just beyond the balcony he cloaked again. He walked slowly and stopped at the left-hand corner wall of the RED balcony. This would be it, damnit. His cloaking meter was full, the sniper was distracted, it was perfect. 

He crouched and approached the perched sniper, slowly, the familiar scent of metallic gun smoke and black coffee reaching him as he approached. The sniper sniffled and shifted, then, eye up to the scope, pulled the trigger. A loud BANG and the dying scream of the BLU soldier rang out. The spy was halfway through the balcony area. Behind him came the sounds of RED passersby, jumping out of the openings or heading down the stairs. He stuck close to the walls, moving cautiously, crouching and stopping frequently to avoid enemies and conserve his cloaking charge. The sniper stretched his neck a moment, refocused on the scope, and held his breath. Another trigger pull, another BANG, the whisper of a bullet through the air, and quick splash of the water. Mundy leaned back with a low chuckle, bringing down his rifle. 

"Gotcha, ya filthy arsonist," he muttered proudly to himself, putting his rifle down to stretch. The spy perked. This is the perfect time to strike, he thought. He took up his knife, movement ever so calculated. The aussie clasped his hands and brought them high above his head, arching his back and tensing with a groan. The sound was dark, gravelly sweet like molasses. The spy couldn't help but notice the lean muscle of his arms, how it carved shallow creases in his skin, biceps peeking through his cuffed shirt, pulled back. His hands were battle-worn, rugged, much like his face. 

The perfect time... 

The sniper brought his arms down with a sigh, shaking them out. He removed his hat, revealing the dark, shaggy mullet beneath it. He traded it for his thermos and leaned back, bracing himself on the crate he sat on, taking a drink. The late afternoon sun caught his sunglasses in a fiery orange glow and glinted gently on the beads of sweat along his forehead and arms. A drop of coffee rolled from his lips, sparkling. There was an electric hum of nerves in the spy's stomach. He had stopped moving.

To strike... 

A small murmur of surprise from the bushman as he separated from the thermos and licked the drip of coffee. He dragged his thumb across his bottom lip. It looked soft in the light. 

"THE RED TEAM HAS SUCCESSFULLY CAPTURED THE INTELLIGENCE! THE RED TEAM WINS THE MATCH!"

The booming voice overhead startled the spy, ripping him out of his trance. The nerves within him were leaden now, heavy and cumbersome. He sucked in a sharp breath in surprise, losing his footing for a split second. He regained it, but the shuffle-tap of his step had alerted the sniper. In a split second Mundy was on his feet and stepping back, brandishing his bushwacka. 

"PREPARE FOR TRANSPORT!" came the voice once more. The spy simply stayed in place. No use striking now that it wouldn't count. Mundy seemed to calm down, looking around in caution, but lowered his machete. It was the end of the round, anyways. 

The spy sat, frozen where he was. Why hadn't he stricken? Why hadn't he stricken?! It was perfect, mon dieu, he was even unarmed for a moment!

Then the battlefield was empty, empty except for boot prints and bullet casings in the dirt. 

Chapter Text

          The RED lobby erupted in cheers and celebration. The scout, having made the first and third capture (pyro had made the second), teleported into the room with his arms up, flexed to a double bicep, beaming. 

"Now DAT is how you win a match!!"

 The pyro jumped happily, scooping him up into a tight bear hug while the scout laughed. Misha beamed at the show of camaraderie and picked them both up, placing one on either shoulder and parading them around the lobby to the sounds of an adoring crowd below, their medic flushed, especially adoring of the show of strength. 

"Aye, a hard-fought match it was!" said the demo, giving the scout a proud pat on the leg. "Might've set a record for quickest intel capture." 

"What, beating my own previous record? I'm just that good." the scout replied, shrugging nonchalantly. 

"We should go someplace to celebrate! It's been a while since we've all gone out as a team," announced the medic, setting his medi-gun and backpack on the rack. There were excited sounds of agreement throughout the room. "There should be enough transportation, ja?"

"I can fit two max in the pickup," said the engie, stretching and cracking his knuckles. "El Americano rode in with me," he said, gesturing at the soldier, who had been dancing in celebration by the heavy.

"I rode in on me bike, but I can take a passenger," offered the demoman, looking up to notice the pyro that had already been excitedly staring him down. He chuckled. "I think the spot might be taken, though," he added with a nod towards the pyro, who clapped and shouted joyously, leaping down from the heavy's shoulder to thank the demo with a bouncing hug. The demo happily accepted with a laugh.

"Misha and I don't have much space in zhe bronco, maybe for one." counted the Medic, "herr spy and Mundy, you have space for one or two separately?" 

Mundy had been sitting on one of the lobby benches, fanning himself with his hat, and the spy had been standing near the scout. A pleasant yeah! from the sniper and a nod from the spy. An idea came to the bushman. As the rest of the team sorted the rides out, Mundy pulled the spy aside.

"Oi, spy, you mind if I ride in with you? Or you ride in with me?"

The spy grimaced a little at the thought of sitting in that camper. Goodness knows the last time that passenger's seat was deep cleaned, and this was an expensive suit.  

"I could drive you there, but I have to drop scout off at home after. Why?"

"Tha's fine, I'll ride back with Dell. Jus' got a couple questions, advice, maybe help with the assignment." 

The spy's eyebrows twitched upwards, intrigued. Advice? Hm. "Ah, bon," he nodded, "We can do that." 

With much deliberation, the transport was chosen. Pyro would ride with Tavish, Dell would take Jeremy and the soldier in the pickup, Mundy would ride with the spy, and the heavy and medic would ride together. The scout chose a greasy little burger joint they frequented with some outdoor seating to enjoy the sunset and cool night air. The team poured from the door of the run-down storefront on the surface and piled into the cars. 

          The BLU team was considerably less celebratory. Spawning in their lobby consisted more of sighs and putting up their larger weapons to the tinny sound of the scout's portable radio. 

"We'll get 'em next time, boys, we always do," said the engie with a sad smile. He pat the back of the particularly dejected-looking scout. A couple quiet sounds of agreement came in reply. Their string of wins had had them working hard, excited, however fleeting it was. Clangs and shuffles of post-battle routines moved through the air, then the sound of the door opening and closing as the medic excused himself to refrigerate a bucket of field-collected organs. 

"We can go pick up some burgers if it cheers ya'll up," said the engineer, standing up from dropping his toolboxes by the weapons racks. A few heads perked.

The scout turned his head to face him and gave him a small nod. The pyro straightened up a little. He loved evening rides.

"Yeah, that'd be nice," replied the scout, reciprocating the sad smile. Within the lobby, a stomach growled.  A few heads turned to meet the sniper, who had stopped in the middle of hanging his bow.

"...burgers sound good," he said, to a small wave of chuckles. The soldier threw an arm around him.

"I second that! Who's picking up?" 

"Aye, I have the minivan," offered the demoman. "Plenty o' space for nine burgers and a coupla passengers." 

The pyro raised his hand politely, earning him a nod from the demo. 

The spy had been sitting silently on one of the benches, lost deep in thought. Why in the world did he hesitate? Nerves didn't get to him like that. He thought a nighttime drive might help.

"If I may," he said, standing, "I'd like to tag along. If you don't mind me going in disguise." He turned towards the engineer, his preferred disguise. The team seemed taken aback. Dell smiled at him, slightly surprised.

"Well, sure. I can hang back and stay in the workshop if you'd like to take my place." The spy smiled slightly and nodded in thanks.

"What's with that?" interjected the sniper, cocking an eyebrow. "I've never seen you leave the base if you can help it. You're here or you're home."

The spy replied, his smile dropping, face stone cold in less than a second. "I thought a nighttime drive sounded nice. What is it to you?"

Theo brought his hands up in surrender, chuckling. "My bad, my bad. How touchy."

Their soldier, standing near the weapons rack, squinted from beneath his helmet, watching the exchange. Within his brain, a neuron sparked to life. He had glimpsed the spy running for the RED base at the end of the match, surely he would have gone for the sniper at some point, but the sniper never fell. And now, leaving the base? Not to mention what the pyro had told him...

"I, for one, welcome it," said the demo happily, giving the spy a kind pat on the back. "The more the merrier."

"I want to be merrier," barked the soldier. He was going to get to the bottom of this.

"Aye John, we need plenty hands for nine orders. Anyone else?"

The heavy and sniper shook their heads and the engie shot them a thumbs up. The scout thought a moment and sighed.

"Y'know, a night drive might do me good, too. I'll come with."

"Tha's it, lad. Lift yer spirits some." The demo beckoned his burger pickup crew to him. "Alllright, le's get rollin'." The five came together and began heading out, the pyro clapping excitedly. The happy yaaay! of the soldier could be heard through the hall. The spy was the last one out, turning to meet the engie's eye again and smiling.

"Merci, mon ami."

"Weren't no thing," the engie chuckled back.

As the five walked away, the sound of the spy's disguise appearing could be heard.

          Around this time, the RED team was chugging along in a little line of cars down the two-lane highway through the desert. At the front of the line was the dinged up, sticker-decorated motorbike belonging to Tavish, currently popping wheelies to the glee of his passenger. Down the line went a Ford Bronco, then an old Chevy pickup, and at the end a sharply detailed Pontiac. Within this caboose, the sniper questioned the spy.

"So, besides lookin' for teammates actin' weird, how do I spot a snake like you?"

The spy thought for a moment.

"Well, your BLU spy has limited invisibility cloak with motion, he will resort to disguises more often than not. Perhaps look for teammates coming in from strange angles, like the direction of their base instead of ours. He will also be exposed if he attacks, so maybe keep a broad eye and scope only when you need it."

"Bugger...I suppose if it works. All things I knew about," he sighed. "Now here's my burning question: why would a spy get up close and personal, and not strike even though he had the chance?"

A questioning raised eyebrow came his way. "Pardon? Like, he had the chance and didn't take it?"

"Yeh. I was behind the balcony wall, put my rifle down to stretch, drink some coffee. I was completely unarmed for nearly a minute. Then the Admin comes over the speakers and I hear a shuffle by the wall. Might've scared the spook. No one visible there, I can only guess he was lurking, but he never struck. I don't know how long he was there."

The spy raised a curved finger to his lip in thought. His eyes shifted, thinking of any possible explanation. The BLU spy would take most, if not all openings for attack, even if it killed him too. 

"...I can only imagine..." started the spy, "...that he hesitated for some reason. What that reason is, I can only speculate. I can hardly believe a killer like him would hesitate. Perhaps he didn't want to run the risk of being jarate'd again?" 

Mundy grunted in response, lost in thought, turning to look out the window. The sun was starting to lower, setting the sky ablaze in gorgeous warm colors. He chuckled. 

"Maybe he'd never been so close to such a handsome rogue," he joked, shrugging and tipping his hat. The spy snorted back a laugh.

"Oh, was there someone else there? That would explain it then." The spy jeered back, laughing at the sniper's fake-offended Oi!! before he joined in the laughter. 

          A few miles away, five BLU mercenaries were piling into a little Dodge minvan. She was more than spacious, with a driver and passenger's seat and a backseat that could fit four more, with room for storage and cargo. The demo slid into the driver's seat as the soldier and spy, disguised as their engie, climbed into the back with the spy taking the window. There was a scuffle by the passenger seat as the scout and pyro went for it at the same time. 

"Hey Py, I'll play ya for it!" said the scout, sticking out both pinkies and thumbs and rotating his hands at the wrist a couple of times, then raising a fist on a flat palm, signing for a game of rock, paper, scissors. The pyro nodded before bringing his hands to the same gesture.

"On three! One, two, three!"

There was a triumphant woohoo!! from the scout, who clambered into the passenger's seat with a smile as the pyro hopped in the back, taking the other window. The scout turned back to face him.

"No hard feelings, right, pal?"

Pyro shook his head and gave a chilled wave of his hand, to which the scout flashed a smile and thumbs-up. The van stuttered and started, round headlights flickering on in the yellow-orange evening. They pulled out onto the road as the sun approached the horizon. 

"Hey, Alli? Mind if I turn the radio on?" said the scout to the driving demo, who turned slightly and nodded. 

"Aye, go on."

The pyro tapped the scout's soldier excitedly, raising both index and pinky fingers in a rock 'n' roll gesture and motioning towards him. The scout smiled and nodded.

"Okay, okay, I see you Py." He turned back to the demo. "You got a rock channel on here?"

"Should beee...." The demo trailed off, pressing buttons near the radio. Blips of different genres of music played for a few seconds at a time, interrupted by the demo's grumbles and scout's chuckles.

With the other three distracted, Doe took his chance to question the spy. He leaned in just a little and whispered gruffly.

"Hey, crouton."

The visage of the engineer turned around, eyebrow raised. The spy's voice drifted from the American southern exterior.

"Hm?"

"Couldn't help but notice you spared the sniper today. Wanna tell me why that is, maggot?" 

The spy balked a moment, then furrowed his brow and tensed once more, trying to regain his composure. He folded his arms coldly.

"No reason in particular, as if it's any of your business."

The soldier was unsatisfied with this answer, and that was clearly legible on his scowling face. The spy held the uncomfortable silence. So did the soldier. The garbled sounds of the radio continued, to the demo's increasingly frustrated outbursts and the scout's laughter. The pyro had taken notice of the interrogation on his left and turned to listen, watching the stubbornly quiet spy. He grew agitated with new eyes on him.

"I didn't want to be jarate'd again, alright? It takes a lot of mental effort to prepare to be doused in piss." 

A squint below the helmet.

"A likely story," hissed the soldier, leaning back. "You had a lot of time. You don't hesitate, ever. Explain yourself!" His voice had raised in a sudden silence. Alli had given up looking for the rock channel just in time to catch that last outburst. All eyes and ears were tuned to the spy. He paled and his fingers fidgeted. The silence dragged. The scout seemed sympathetic, picking up on the cues of discomfort.

"Sorry for listening in, but you don't gotta tell him nothin', spy, not if you don't want to," he said, gently. It sounded like something Dell would say. 

"No, no," choked the spy, clearing his throat and wringing his hands. "My team deserves an apology. I hesitated to kill. It could have endangered any one of you. I am ashamed." 

The soldier leaned back in his chair, a smug smile on his face, arms crossed expectantly. The spy brought the goggles of his disguise down around his neck. His eyes were anxious, avoidant of everyone else's. He continued. 

"The simple truth is, I was nervous. I haven't placed why yet, it very well could have been the possibility of jarate for all I know. I hoped the drive would help me think about it. That's all. I really don't know." His voice was genuine and heavy with guilt.

He turned away to face the window, watching the desert roll by. Behind him, his teammates were silent, but their faces spoke volumes. Raised eyebrows, some grimaces, some nods of understanding. The scout shot the soldier a dirty look for pressing. The team rarely saw any emotion out of the spy outside of annoyance or occasional contentedness. That frenchman did not fear death, but an easy assignment had him nervous?

"You're alright, lad," spoke the demo after a little while. "It's no big deal if you miss one shot, we all respawn in the end."

The spy offered a small smile and nod in reply. The soldier faced straight ahead, lost in thought. There was a shadow of a smirk on his face. Nervous, huh?

          The RED caravan of mismatched vehicles pulled into the parking lot of a little hole-in-the-wall diner. The building was a standalone kitchen with a pickup window and outdoor seating, faded red and white paint on the outdoor walls. It was surprisingly empty for an evening. The sunset was gorgeous from here. There was a stout, curly-haired lady in the pickup window. She looked up at the motion and smiled. "Jimmy!" she shouted into the kitchen, "those mercenaries are here! Get preppin'!" 

They may be a rowdy bunch, but they were nice enough, and good tippers too. The pickup had barely squealed to a stop before the scout barreled out of it. He was quickly joined by Tavish and pyro, whose motorcycle had just screeched to a halt in an empty space. Soon, the whole RED team was noisily gathering around a couple picnic tables. 

"Alright, who's orderin'?" spoke the demo, leaning on their table.

"I know everyone's orders, so long as no one wants anything different," offered the engineer. "The usual nine combos, pyro's to go, medic and spy's without cheese, half of 'em without onion, two without pickles..." he thought for a moment, recalling their tall order. "...and for shakes, chocolate for scout, strawberry for pyro, and vanilla for Mundy and medic." He counted on his fingers to the sound of agreement from the table. 

"Impressive as always, Dell. Very good memory you have," nodded the medic. Misha sat beside him and grunted an agreement. 

"Ahh, no es nada," chuckled the engineer. "I'll get to the window then." 

As he walked over, the sound of chatter grew behind him. Talks of work, games, music, the sounds of laughter. He smiled and greeted the lady as he reached the window. 

"Buenas, amor. Ya'll get started on our tall order already?" 

The lady snickered and waved a hand in flattery. "Ya lo sabias, Esteban. Same as always?" 

"Oh, do you remember it all? Nine total, two no cheese, two no pickles-"

"-half of 'em no onion, one to go. And a chocolate, strawberry, two vanilla shakes," she finished, smiling triumphantly. 

"Well, damn. Color me impressed, Olga." He chuckled, holding out a credit card. "You treat us so well every time." 

During this exchange, a yellow Dodge minivan rumbled into the lot. The scout noticed, squinting for a second, then scream-laughing and pointing in beyond excited disbelief. 

"YOU GUYS!! BLU TEAM IS HERE!!!"

The team turned to look, and the table erupted in cheers and commotion. Olga poked her head out to check it out, and the engineer turned to follow suit. Both froze in surprise, and the lady retreated into the window with a nervous, yet excited laugh.

"Oye, Jimmy, double it!!" 

The doors flung open and the spy was nearly knocked to the ground with the force of the BLU soldier clambering out. To say Tavish lit up would be an understatement.

"JOHNNY BOY!!"

"TAVIIISHH!!"

With joyous screams they charged at eachother, colliding in an aggressive hug, laughing maniacally. The demo pulled back and held the soldier's shoulders at arms length, looking at him, almost disbelieving that he was actually there. 

"Me favorite all-American, c'mere!!" 

He skirted the soldier with impressive speed and pulled him into a chokehold, cackling, which the soldier promptly responded to by catching the demo's leg with his own, and, squatting just a bit, throwing him to the ground. The demo grabbed at the soldier and brought him down too. The boys continued their friendly tussle as the BLU demo, pyro, and scout climbed out of the van. The spy stood by the door frozen, stricken with dread by this unexpected encounter. He had to make a choice; either duck back into the van and cloak or regain composure and act like the BLU engineer. He only knew vaguely of the outside friendships Dell held, but he knew he, the medics, and the RED engineer sometimes got together to troubleshoot tech...and the sniper was there. A knot formed in his stomach like nausea. The nerves again. He straightened and feigned a surprised smile, waving at the table. 

The RED spy elbowed Mundy. The sniper turned to him with an eh? and was met with wide gesturing eyes.

"That engineer is the spy." Mundy's face fell. 

"Are you sure?" 

A nod before the spy turned away and rejoined the greetings from the RED. The BLU demo reached them.

"Cheers, boys, what a surprise!"

"Ohh Alistairr," trilled the medic with a smile, "It's been far too long!! And Dell as well! Have those diagnostic tests come back yet?" 

The false engie approached and sighed with a smile and a shake of his head. "Naw doc, not yet. Y'know how them labs take their sweet time with your strange samples." Beneath the façade, the spy was pale, trembling. The last time he was this close to the RED medic he had been beheaded and tortured.

The medic replied with a gleeful laugh, motioning for the spy to sit on the bench beside him. Before he could reply his demo spoke up, trying to help his teammate. 

"Oh Ludwig, we're only here to pick up, we won't be long."

"Nonsense," scoffed the medic, "zhey have eighteen burgers to get through. It's going to be a wait, join us for a little."

Alli watched the spy for input, who smiled at him without missing a beat.

"Ahhg, he's got a point, Al. Go 'head 'n order, I'll watch our boys here with 'em." He made his way to the bench, reassuring the demo with a thumbs-up. He was only doing what he did best; impersonating. It honestly made him more comfortable to act like someone he wasn't. Alli returned a smile and a small sigh before turning to join the RED engie at the order window.

The wrestling of the RED demo and BLU soldier had progressed to lying on the ground, panting, arms around the other's shoulders. Both pairs of scouts and pyros had sat in a little group at one end of the table and were trying to converse in sign language, to the delight of the BLU pyro and the confusion of the RED scout, who barely knew any. The RED soldier watched them, even more confused. On the other end of the table sat Misha and his medic, across from the RED spy. The façade of the BLU engineer sat between the medic and soldier. 

Directly across from the sniper.

The sniper who met the BLU spy's eye and waved with a smirk. The sniper who looked very pleasant in the light of the setting sun. There went his nerves again, a strange pit in his stomach. The spy smiled back, greeting him with a nod. 

"Oh, Dell," started the medic, catching his attention. He went on about some teleporter tests having to do with wheat products, something about the samples he had mentioned earlier. The spy responded in vague positives and chuckles, focused almost entirely on the sniper in his periphery. The RED spy had made some sort of joke, at which the sniper laughed heartily. His eyes would almost close when he laughed, his nose would scrunch at the bridge, and little crow's-feet wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes. The skin of his cheeks and nose was tinted a warm pink from the decreasing temperature. His smile took the BLU spy's attention.

"Oooh," sighed the medic, wiping a tear from his eye with a laugh. "Isn't that right, Dell?" 

The BLU spy focused once more and laughed a bit. "Abso-lutely, doc." 

Despite being so distracted by his enemy, sitting so close to the RED medic had the spy full of anxiety. He was fighting the memories trying to come back into his mind. He felt he needed a moment to himself. 

"Y'know what doc, I'm gonna go for a smoke. I'll come back n' say g'bye before we head out." 

"Ja, enjoy. Lovely catching up." 

As the BLU spy shuffled to get up, the RED one elbowed the sniper beside him. Another subtle gesture with his eyes, telling him to follow. The sniper stood with a start.

"A smoke sounds good, I'll go with ya, mate." 

Putain de merde, thought the spy, thoroughly annoyed, just barely holding back a look of disappointment. He couldn't escape the damn bushman. There was a slight heat on his face against the cool of the evening.

"Sure thing, pardner."

The two rose and began the walk to the far side of the kitchen building. Neither of them gave any thought to Tavish and John, who were sitting on the ground a little ways away, eyeing the pair as they moved. The scot hummed.

"So that's yer spy? The one assigned to kill our sniper, and the one our sniper was assigned to kill? The ruthless, backstabbin' snake who's been actin' strange?"

"Affirmative."

Tavish leaned back on his hands. There was a beat of silence as they watched the two disappear behind the building. 

"He's totally got the hots for Mundy." 

The soldier grunted in surprise.

"That's what your pyro told me! They're dead set that there's some romantic feelings there. You really think so?" 

"I'm tellin' ye," assured the demo, lying back down in the grass, "I doubt even he knows it yet. But I see it. Hell, I saw it on Badwater a coupla days ago, that spy had him pinned to the wall. There was a passion there. Watch him, you'll see it."

The soldier laid back down as well. 

"Maybe I will." 

At the far side of the building, the silence was heavy and awkward. The two leaned against the building as Mundy drew a cigarette from a smushed box in his pocket, and the spy moved to do the same, but froze. He hadn't grabbed any of the engineer's big tobacco cigars to cover with. If he brought out his little cigarette tin, the sniper would surely know it was him. But then again, they were off the clock. He sighed and drew his case. Mick smiled a little.

"Oi, don't stress it. I knew it was you before y'even sat down."

The spy was startled for a moment, then groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He dropped the southern accent.

"My little hesitation by the van. I should have known."

Mundy chuckled, pulling out a ratty drugstore lighter and flicking it once, twice before it sparked to life and lit his cigarette. He offered the flame to the spy beside him, who crinkled his nose and brought out his own fancy little lighter, engraved with a swirling floral pattern and polished to a mirror finish. The sniper hummed in acknowledgement and took a drag from his cig. The silence was a little more bearable now with the spy's cover blown, but he was still disguised. Incredible how he switched between personas. His eyes had been so warm and inviting acting as the engineer, but now they were tense and cold, despite them not physically changing. Mundy glanced down at him as he lit his cigarette.

"Y'know, strange to see that voice outta that body. You can relax back here for a little since I know 'n all."

The spy furrowed his brow and glared up at the sniper.  

"Very kind. But no, thank you. I don't show my face outside of work."

The sniper nodded and faced forward again.

"That's right, even at the café. I'dn it weird to be someone else for so long?"

"It's just the job. I'm used to it by now," replied the spy with a sigh and a little shake of his head. He breathed the dusk air deeply, relaxing with the exhale. As much as he tried not to think about it, those weeks of torture were fresh on his mind. His free hand involuntarily raised to rub at his neck. Mick noticed at the motion and a slight look of sorrow crossed his face. He cleared his throat.

"Y'know, I'm real sorry 'bout what our medic did to ya. It must've been hell."

The spy froze solid, turning to look at him with eyes wide, eyebrows arched in anger and surprise. He just stared for a moment. 

"...how ze hell do you know about that?" 

The sniper tensed in surprise, now realizing how stupid a statement that was. Think before you speak, Mundy. He started to stammer an apologetic reply, stumbling through his regret.

"Well see, the medic brought it up to me 'cause- 'cause of the assignment and all, gave me the file on it sayin' there was info in there-" 

His stutter worsened as the spy bristled and grew more horrified with every word out of his mouth. A whirlwind of thoughts had occupied the spy's brain, about everything being aired out, his name, his face. But the aussie continued, voice rising in pitch in his panic.

"But- but I didn't look at it! Well, I did, but very carefully!! I didn't get any info, nothing identifying or anything like that, I wouldn't do that, y'know? I may be your enemy in career but I have basic respect. If you don't want your identity known, I'm not gonna go diggin' for it."

He watched the spy nervously. It seemed he had started to breathe again, just barely reassured by the nerve-wracked word vomit from the sniper. 

"So what did you see?" pressed the spy, staring directly into the eyes of the aussie, who shifted nervously and looked away a moment, then back into the cold eyes before him. As angry as they were, there was almost a sense of pleading in them.

"Only notes about the reattachment. And a picture of the procedure, after it was done. The stitches." He paused, then added nervously, "No face or name or anything, I promise you." 

The spy seemed to relax ever so slightly, falling back against the wall with a soft groan. Mundy watched as his enemy held his head in his hands. God, he had completely ruined what was supposed to be a decompressing smoke break. He fidgeted with the cigarette and leaned against the wall again, facing forward before starting to speak in another attempt to reassure the spy beside him. 

"...I know the feeling, y'know. Got stitches, scars of my own, big 'n ugly ones." His voice had lowered almost to a grumble. "Thanks to him, too. We ain't so different in that."

The spy brought his hands down and glanced at the sniper. Honestly, with all going on he had forgotten about his opponent's scars. They smoked in the quiet for a little while. His company wasn't so bad. 

"I appreciate you telling me, bushman," started the spy, softly from the silence between them. "It often feels like there's no one else that would understand. It's nice to know there is." He looked up and met the eye of the sniper with a slight smile, though remnants of sorrow lingered between his brows. Mundy smiled back.

"I could say the same, spook." 

They relaxed a few minutes longer, breathing in the breeze of the night, laden with the smell of burgers wafting from within the building. The sniper thought to bring up what his medic had suggested, that they talk about their experiences, but a sharp whistle cut through the air. The sniper straightened up, recognizing the sound. 

"That's Dell. Food must be up." 

He blew a last spout of smoke before flicking the remainder of his cigarette down onto the gravel ground, crushing the glowing embers as the spy watched, unaware of his still tense brow. Terrible habit. Mick looked back up at the frenchman. 

"'Preciate your company, mate. See you on the field." 

Then, in an unthinking gesture of fellowship, he reached towards the spy and pressed a thumb to the space between his brows. 

"Take it easy, mate," he said.

The spy stood still. Mundy offered a little smile before turning away and starting towards the tables. 

The spy stayed still. On the outside, at least. On the inside he was ablaze with feeling. The unease from their conversation disintegrated completely, replaced by a combustion of sensation within his lower abdomen, spreading upwards in the form of a spiking heart rate and a heat in his face. His breathing intensified ever so slightly. With a shaky hand he touched his forehead, the fingerprint spot between his eyebrows that felt like fire and ice all at once. The sniper had essentially pressed out the crease in between, a split-second reminder to relax. That spot was a recurring insecurity for him, and the sniper seemed to have picked up on it and tried to help in correcting it, in softening discomfort. His enemy by trade. A warmth bloomed from within the spy. There was a fluttering feeling in his stomach. 

Minutes later, from somewhere outside his head, someone called for him. He ambled from beyond the wall in the best BLU engie act he could muster from within the haze of his mind. He met Alistair by the pickup window and grabbed onto the two bags he was handed. The RED team waved and said their goodbyes from the tables. He looked back at them as he approached the van with his own team. He locked eyes with the sniper as he waved goodbye, smiling, warmly aglow in the night from a soft light overhead.

He felt the flutter again. 

Chapter Text

            Back at the table, before the pair had left...

The BLU spy spoke in a southern drawl with a sigh. "Y'know what doc, I'm gonna go for a smoke. I'll come back n' say g'bye before we head out."

"Ja, enjoy. Lovely catching up."

The RED spy eyed his pyro, who was gesturing hurriedly at their sniper, as discreetly as possible. He elbowed the aussie beside him and eyed him, urging him to follow his enemy back. The sniper stood.

"A smoke sounds good, I'll go with ya, mate."

"Sure thing, pardner," from the disguised spy. 

Among the chatter of the table the two rose and began to walk towards the building. A handful of eyes followed their motion. Herbert started chatting with his heavy soon after, not noticing the other end of the table as they settled into silence. It had turned to crickets the very moment the pair were out of earshot. The air above them was palpable, strung with the gentle electricity of scheming teams. Eyes met and hushed giggles began. The RED spy looked back at his masked teammate for just a moment, with a little smile. A wink from him was like a spark into gasoline, and the offense descended into chaos. The thumping of the RED pyro's excited hands on the table broke the quiet, followed closely by shouts of surprise and playful punches. The RED scout spoke up.

"Y'know, py, I gotta hand it to ya," he placed an arm around the masked mercs' shoulders. "I think you were right." 

"Mmm-hmmgh!" replied the pyro, with an air of I told you so. He playfully shoved the chuckling scout before draping an arm around him as well. The BLU scout spoke up. 

"He was totally eyeing your sniper while he was talkin with the medic. Especially when he smiled, man?" The scout leaned back with a laugh. "Ooh, he's got it bad!!" 

The BLU pyro nodded with excitement and signed. He motioned towards the building with an open palm, then circled his face with it, gestured over his shoulder, and hooked a finger down vertically where his mouth would be: "his face was red." His RED counterpart flapped their free hand happily to the chuckles of the BLU scout, who spoke once again.

"It was!! I've never seen him like that, especially not in disguise."  

"So what," started Jeremy, "do we just let em get it on? Ain't the admin gonna have an issue with that?" 

"Hmm shh dmmh nn wnhrrh," giggled the RED pyro, to which the BLU scout laughed. 

"Ooh, you troublemaker, you! That's it, what she don't know won't hurt 'er." 

From just beside the group came an incredulous voice, the gruff sound of the RED soldier. Until now he had been watching, brow furrowed, mouth agape in confusion, then the slow start of realization had come over him. 

"Are you saying," he started, rising slightly from his seat, "that one of our boys has been SEDUCED by the enemy?!" 

"Not yet, he hasn't," laughed the RED scout.

The offense collectively giggled in reply and explained it was the other way around. Unbeknownst to them, the chatter from the medic had stopped. He told his heavy to hold on a moment and listened in. The night air above them was alive with a buzzing excitement. The doctor turned to face them and slid a little closer.

"Vhat's zhis I hear about seduction?" 

The RED soldier turned to Herbert, a devilish smile spreading beneath his helmet.

"The BLU spy has fallen for our sniper!!" He spoke loudly and mischievously, rubbing his hands with an scheming chuckle. "This will give us an advantage! Those kinds of emotions are weakness!" 

A few of the offense rolled their eyes. The heavy poked his head into the conversation space, now intrigued. The RED spy listened nonchalantly, just enjoying the talk.

The medic lit up with a joyous giggle. "Ooohoohoo!! You don't say! How can you be sure?"

"What," snickered Jeremy, "you didn't notice 'im makin' goo-goo eyes at sniper? He's good at his job, sure, but you can't hide everything." 

The doctor seemed taken aback. "Really? When did you see zhat?" 

The scout scoffed with a smile.

"Oh, c'mon doc, the engineer! Just now! Ya didn't notice?" 

Herbert thought for a moment, then chuckled and shook his head. 

"Ahg, I'm terrible at noticing. You know, I've healed him once or twice, during matches. He fools me. I even ubered him once!" He laughed, alight with joy. "Oh, but how exciting! Should ve help them along?" 

The BLU scout turned to him with a snicker. " Well I was just gonna watch 'n see what happened. You actually wanna try and put 'em together?"

Both pyros met his eye at once and nodded excitedly. He shrugged and continued with a chuckle. 

"I mean, what'll you even do? You have your own fights to fight on the field, and they don't interact outside of that. I think..." 

He trailed off, concernedly watching the medic's slowly growing grin. It was...vaguely threatening. Too many teeth involved. 

"I have it on good authority," said the medic through his devious smile, "that they very likely will be meeting outside of work, for reasons I shouldn't discuss." 

A beat of silence, then a breath of energy came over the offense. Giddy laughs and ooo's of anticipation were cut through by an offended soldier's grunt.

"You're telling me," he started, with a great inhale, "our sniper will be fraternizing with the enemy, and you are aware? And encouraging it?" 

"Now, soldier," said the medic, putting his hands out in a "calm down" gesture, "ve're only enemies on zhe field. As long as we can all still fight properly I'm sure we'll be alright." 

"Hm. And if they can't? If they're taken over by that hippie-dippy love feeling?" 

The medic thought for a moment, tilting his head slightly. "You know, I have the feeling those two can separate their work and home life quite well. Zhey're very logical," he finished with a nod.

The soldier grunted in response and thought a moment. This seemed to quell his concern, for now at least. The offense proceeded to chatter amongst eachother while Herbert updated Misha on the situation. A few minutes passed and the table had calmed down. Then, from a little ways away-

"Oi!" 

The call of a nearing scot with his enemy soldier in tow, waving as they approached. Most of the table waved back. When they made it, the demo braced himself on the table with both hands. He leaned in dramatically towards the offense, who quieted down in curiosity.

"Now what d'you all make of that sniper and spy, aye?" 

The excitement budded and bloomed once more, spearheaded by the stims of the RED pyro. A chatter of agreement and talks of feelings, and Tavish laughed aloud, softly elbowing the BLU soldier. 

"What'd I tell ye, mate. S'not just me who sees it." 

The two settled into the space beside the RED spy and joined the conversations as they waited for their food. The subject had changed by the time their engie reappeared with an armful of greasy paper bags. The boys made space along the table for the grub, and a few RED hands stretched out to help him. He let the food down with a sigh and a smile, then a nod towards the BLU. 

"Buenas, I hadn't said hello yet. Shouldn't be long before your burgers 're up." 

He was met with smiles and greetings from the BLU at the table. His teammates started dividing the meals amongst each other, and the engineer's brow twitched in realization. 

"Where'd Mick go off to?"

Chuckles from his scout, giggles from his pyro and medic, but the RED soldier piped up before anyone else could.

"He's off fraternizing with the enemy!" And with a glance towards the medic he continued, "...which is...not a bad thing. We are off the field," he finished matter-of-factly.  

Herbert shot him a little smile in return, and the engie turned to look at the building. 

"Well that's nice, but his burger's gonna get cold." 

He stood up straight, wetting his lips and whistling a loud, sharp note out towards the little kitchen. Most of the table recoiled slightly with uttered sounds of pain and surprise. But sure enough, soon from around the building came the aussie at a half-jog pace. He smiled a little and waved as he approached. Giggles at the end of the table started up again, to which the engie cocked an eyebrow, but they hushed as he arrived. 

"Ello, boys. There room for another on the table?" 

"Yeah, yeah," came the voice of the BLU scout, who signaled towards his soldier and pyro. "We can get goin', let 'em eat. Alli's gonna need a hand soon anyways." 

The three stood and began their goodbyes. The BLU soldier and Red demo shared a long and complicated handshake while the BLU pyro wrapped his arms around his RED counterpart and their scout in a relaxed hug. The BLU scout chuckled and fist-bumped the opposing offence. The three gathered and waved goodbye at the table as they turned to meet their demo at the pickup window. Various goodbyes echoed from the table before the team all sat to chow down. Mick finally took a spot, back beside the RED spy and across from his medic. He wore the slightest of contented smiles, which some had noticed. Herbert watched him closely, a look of forcibly subdued excitement in his face. Almost as if he was trying to act casual, but there was a glint of giddy anticipation in his eye. He held off for a moment, listening to the sounds of the night, a few people chatting quietly, the sounds of the fast food wrappers, but after a few minutes, he gave in. 

"So, sniper?" spoke the medic coolly, cutting through crinkling paper and various eating noises, "You seem happy. How was it with the spy?"

Mundy didn't even look up at him, responding through a mouthful as he fiddled with his burger wrapper.

"It was awright. Nothin' special, just a smoke."

The medic nodded and hummed, quiet for a moment. Then he looked up at the sharpshooter, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. They stayed on him. Mick's eyes flickered up to meet them, brows drawn at the feeling of being watched.

"Just a smoke?"

The sniper's eyes widened slightly. He's implying something. What could he be implying? The only thing between him and the spy was their plans to talk about their mental struggles and traumas, but he knows Mundy didn't want that getting out. His mind raced, and so caught up was he in this public intrusion that he didn't notice the hushed giggles around him. Why would he ask about that in front of the whole team? The doctor knows he doesn't want that, but what else could he possible be asking about? He wouldn't make that conversation in front of everyone, right? He paled a little and averted his eyes, chewing on a bite of his burger.

"...yes. Just a smoke."

"Hm. If you say so," shrugged the medic before quieting down. He continued eating as if nothing had happened. The table stayed relatively quiet. It was comfortable to most, but it was heavy, deafening to the sniper. Esteban sat beside him, slightly concerned at the now visibly worried aussie. What was going on right now? Soon enough, though, Jeremy remembered something he'd wanted to ask Tavish and the silence was broken. They started up about the stickers on the demo's bike, then the medic perked up and asked his engie about something regarding work. He seemed entirely unaware of the stressed state he had left the poor sniper in. Eventually a gentle pat on the back from the spy beside him and a kind smile from the heavy across calmed him down some. It didn't seem that the team was hung up on his and the spy's conversation by the building anyhow.

It was around this time that the BLU demo shouted for his spy from the front of the building. He appeared from the corner and approached, looking totally lost in thought. With one hand around a greasy paper bag and the other waving in the air he had said goodbye to the RED, passing the table with his own team towards the parked van. Here, he had met the crinkled eye of the sniper as he smiled and waved back. Here, he had felt that pervasive flutter in his stomach.

And all that had been a passing interaction for Mick. He had waved and smiled, then returned to his meal, none the wiser.

Chapter Text

"FIGHT!!"

          The thunderous roar of boots on the ground, all gunning it for the point. Shouts of schnell! and move, move!! echoed through the breeze and sun of the field. The RED team scattered from their base, half of them running through the dirt and hay, the other half turning to enter the farmhouse by their spawn. Tavish ran through the farmhouse and into the point shelter through the opposing team's entrance to lay a trap of bombs within. Dell kneeled in a corner of the barn to build his nest before moving the sentry out. But only one turned on his heel and raced up the stairs: the RED sniper ran and slid to a stop at the corner window of the farmhouse's second floor, raising his rifle, overlooking the Harvest map in the mid-morning sun. It would be an easy day for him, he thought. One spot and an endless buffet of heads. He'd just have to watch his back...

BANG!!

The BLU spy watched his medic reach for his now mangled head and fall forward, limp on the ground. He watched, invisible, from the outside porch of the farmhouse. That sniper was a formidable shot. A knot formed in his stomach, writhing and blooming, and he grimaced. He stepped into the farmhouse and de-cloaked, forming a plan in his mind. His nerves had gotten the better of him the day before. He couldn't have that, not again. And the night before...

The time after the burger run had been a blur for the spy. He had been silent on the ride back, wrapped up in the sound of his mind. Once they arrived at the base, he didn't even go back inside to say goodbye, just grabbed his bagged burger and left with a wave. His mind was swirling as he drove. He had never felt anything like what happened just then. He was a logical man, he knew the most probable cause of that sensation. Even so, his mind was rife with denial, with irrational excuses. It was an old cigarette. An expired piece of meat. A stomach bug. Anything but the most obvious, most probable answer. Anything but-

"Oi, spy! Get on the field, mate, quit hidin'!" 

The frenchman jumped just slightly as the voice of the BLU sniper tore him from his poorly timed introspection. A few of his teammates passed him by, and he sighed. He heard one, then two shots and dying screams. With a shake of his head he cleared the thoughts, for now at least. His team needed him. He disguised as his scout and peeked at the RED farmhouse window. There sat the sniper, poised. He watched the aussie shoot, hit, then smile to himself. A flutter. The spy grimaced with an annoyed sigh at that damn tickling feeling. He shot again, then dipped behind the wall, and the spy sprinted with a start, bobbing and weaving towards the entrance of the farmhouse. But, naturally, it couldn't be that easy. 

The spy turned the corner into the building and found himself mask-to-mask with the RED pyro. They collided and his disguise flickered. The pyro jumped back with a shout and readied their flamethrower. Merde. 

He was surrounded in reds and oranges, engulfed in flame, suffocated by the heat. The spy shrieked and ran for his right side, drawing his pistol as he tried to get out of the line of fire. He shot through the blistering air, hissing through the pain, then the fireballs stopped. He watched as the pyro attacked, powerjack reared high above their head. The spy dodged just too late. The hodgepodge weapon came down with incredible force, crushing his left shoulder. But this sudden closing of space offered him an out; the spy roared in pain, using the closeness of his enemy to press the barrel of his revolver directly to the pyro's temple, and fire. Flesh, blood, and splintered bone spattered across the wall as the mumbling maniac collapsed to the ground. The spy followed suit, cloaking and taking a knee, breathing heavily. He was not going to last much longer. If he could just take a moment-

"I know you're down 'ere, spook." 

The spy whirled around in a panic, drawing his knife. Just past the stairs stood the sniper, cloaked in a dramatic shadow, bushwacka at the ready. It felt like his heart was in his throat, racing hard. Even now, hurt, fighting for his life, that little flutter returned, fighting for attention through the searing pain and that strange nausea-knot in his stomach. He breathed deeply, as quietly as he could through gritted teeth.

"That sounded like a hard fight for ya," spoke the sniper, in nothing more than a dark grumble, swinging his machete idly around him. He walked further into the room, turning to approach where he'd seen the body of his teammate. The spy stood from his crouched position, invisible, face hard and focused. Ignoring the feelings alight within him, he stalked towards the sniper, circling closer in as he rattled on, just outside of bushwacka range. He would only have one shot at this. 

"Show yourself, bloody coward!" 

"If you say so," hissed the spy, just behind Mundy's left shoulder as he decloaked and raised his dagger. The sniper yelped in surprise and swung in the direction of the voice, but the spy had darted out of swinging range and around the same way, keeping him directly behind the sniper.

"Predictable connard," spat the frenchman with a mean chuckle before lunging and burying his knife in the aussie's back. Mundy fell with a fading groan as his visage applied itself to the spy. Hilarious how he thought he could get the upper hand in close quarters like this, thought the spy with a scoff. He took a slow breath, trying to slow his heightened heart rate. Then off he went, clutching his damaged shoulder, to find a health pack. 

With the RED sniper gone, if even for a moment, the BLU team could push a considerable amount. RED had captured the point, but BLU jumped on it as soon as it was taken in an effort to counter. The BLU spy had taken to the RED side of the capture, sapping buildings and deterring traps until he noticed the dwindling number of his teammates. Rifle shots rang intermittently through the air. Zut alors, he was back already. He caught sight of the barrel glinting in the window, and again, his heart hurried ever slightly. That discomfort in his stomach was really getting old. 

Mundy had respawned and taken up the very same position as before. There wasn't a much better spot for him on Harvest, so he was just about chained to that upper story. He pulled the trigger and heard the scream of the BLU demoman, chuckling to himself as he leaned away from the window to reload. He couldn't complain, it was an advantageous spot for sure. Rifle up, eye to the scope, gnawing on his gum. He watched the exit point for the BLU and shot upon seeing one. Unfortunately, the right hand side of the map, which contained the main battling grounds, was out of his sight while scoped. He didn't see the rocket careening towards his head until he pulled away, which was much too late. With only a split second to respond, all he could do was call out in surprise and start pushing off in the other direction, but the blast caught and flung him towards the wall. He flopped to the ground, rolling once with the momentum, coming to a stop facedown on the splintering wooden floor. He groaned harshly from the pain. He settled for a moment, then started pushing up off the ground. So much had happened at once, such commotion, that he didn't hear the quiet steps approaching until they were on top of him- quite literally. 

"Hrrg-gaAHG-!"

An unseen force coming down on his jaw and neck stopped his pained grunt. It smashed him nearly flush to the ground again, now with his arms pinned beneath him. He watched from the very edge of his vision, eyes wide, unable to turn his head, as a cloud of thin smoke gave way to a freshly polished dress shoe, wrapped in an off-white spat. The pressure on his neck increased as the figure crouched. He could just barely make out the silhouette of a man in a suit holding a large dagger. He'd have some choice words for the spy if he could speak. Instead, he could only twitch and struggle underfoot. 

"You know," came the voice of the frenchman, floating down from overhead, "you look a lot better face-down on the floor." 

The only reply the spy received was a sharp, strained grunt, before he plunged the knife into the sniper's back. He allowed himself a little chuckle as he retracted his dagger and watched his hand lengthen as the disguise of the sniper appeared. In the sheltered corner of the second story, he looked at the hand a moment. It was long and graceful, but strong. He hadn't noticed it all those times before. He turned it in the light, watching the tendons and knuckles move. Deep cracks ran along the insides of his palm and fingers, callouses lined the padding of his palm, and the spy wondered with a slight sneer if the sniper had ever heard of moisturizer. The leather glove he wore was cracked between the fingers, the pads of the palm a distressed tan from wear. He could do with a new one. An assassin was only as good as his equipment, after all. 

The rush of footsteps below him. He jerked out of the trance he was in, cloaking quickly and shrinking into the corner. Conscious again of his actual body, he noticed the heat in his face, a quickness in his breath and heart. What the hell was happening? He watched the sniper reappear from the stairs. He scanned the room, and his eyes landed on the corner he currently hid in. They lingered there, brows drawn tight and low. He looked so serious. The spy stood frozen, breath caught in his throat, swearing they were locking eyes right now, knowing he could tell he was there. That flutter. Nervous, again?! The sniper turned away with a growling sneer, kneeling at the window to set up his shot once again. The spy slid quietly down the wall, a hand clasped around his mouth. His heart pounded in his chest. He felt like he was going insane. 

He would bring all this up to Ludwig once the match ended.

          It was a hell of a fight until the very end. The tug of war for ownership of the point was dizzying; one second the RED were sure it was theirs, but the BLU heavy wiped them out, then a RED sentry took care of him, back and forth, capped by BLU, taken by RED, on and on until finally, the BLU defended just long enough to take the match. The celebration in that BLU lobby was a sight to behold. There were shouts of victory, song and dance, hugs, slaps on the back. The spy offered enough half-hearted participation so as to not be called out. He watched Ludwig carefully through the raised arms and smiling faces of his team. The medic had been inching closer and closer to the door with an awkward smile and laugh. He let out a series of inconspicuous cheers, high fives, then expertly slipped right out of the door, undetected. 

Almost undetected. 

The spy slunk in the same direction, caring less whether or not his teammates noticed. Out through the door, just in time to see the medic disappear through the medical bay doors. His bucket of organs was a very good cover for escaping the post-battle celebrations. He never was much for a loud, cramped space like that. The spy straightened his tie and started towards the medical bay, unaware of the squinting pair of eyes that watched him leave. 

Ludwig sighed to himself in the sterile quiet of his workshop. The contentedness he felt inside was hidden entirely by the deadpan stare on his face as he organized and put away his sample collection. The room was illuminated only by his desk lamp and the light of the open refrigerator. It was dark, comfortable. He worked with precision but savored every thought he put into the decisions he made. Unfortunately, his workflow was interrupted by a polite knock at the door. He froze, then sighed in defeat. Vondaful he groaned quietly, shaking his head before responding.

"Yes, come in." 

The spy opened the door just a crack, squeezing in through as small an opening as he could. He gave the medic a nod. 

"Sorry, doctor, I know you value your time alone after transport. I just needed to talk to you about something." 

The medic relaxed a little bit, nodding in response with a little sigh before turning to continue his work. The spy was one of his few teammates that could appreciate a dark and quiet space.

"Go on, I'm listening." 

Already the spy was wringing his hands. He glanced at the door behind him and stepped just a little closer to the medic before clearing his throat. He leaned on the exam table just a few feet away, speaking in just above a whisper.

"I'm experiencing...symptoms?" he spoke carefully, choosing his words as he talked. "I wanted your help in perhaps...identifying the cause."

Ludwig paused a moment. His teammate sounded...nervous. Extremely out of character for the spy. The clink of glass and squelching of flesh inside the refrigerator resumed.

"What are your symptoms, herr spy?" 

A pause, interrupted only by the shuffle of the medic's motions. Hesitation. The spy took a breath. 

"They started yesterday, on the field. I fear they're impacting my ability to work effectively." 

The doctor listened from behind the door. The spy continued.

"It started with some sort of heart palpitation, like beating fast. Then there's a strange nausea in my stomach, and my face goes hot, I start shaking..." he trailed off. The shuffling from inside the fridge had stopped, and the medic was peering out at the spy from behind the refrigerator door.  

"Is zhat all?" 

The spy looked away, hands picking at the seams of his gloves, cracking his knuckles, any sort of regulating motion he could conjure. The medic eyed his hands. It was always the hands for him. 

"I get..." started the spy again, brow hardening just thinking about the idiocy it it all. "I've been getting nervous. Hesitating. Distracted." 

Ludwig stayed quiet, eyes shifting in thought. It looked like he was going through a mental checklist. The refrigerator door had closed. The spy watched the cogs turn in the medic's mind.

"You've been keeping hydrated?"

"Yes."

"Eating well? No changes to diet?"

"No, all the same."

"How strange," the medic thought aloud. "I don't know what it might be, the symptoms are so vague..."

The spy tensed in the quiet moments of thought. The air was stifling to him.

"Maybe a stomach bug?" He suggested. "Heat stroke? Food poisoning? A damn brain worm from those weeks with the RED? Mon dieu, something." 

He caught himself getting louder, taking a breath and folding his hands, almost in a personal reminder to stay calm. The medic watched his agitated teammate, emotionless on the outside. Observing. He certainly was desperate for a diagnosis. It almost sounded like he was looking for validation of some sort, but the symptoms he spoke of sounded like little more than a young crush.  

"Are they constant or conditional? Do they happen at certain times, places, after certain actions?"

Silence from the spy. He averted his eyes. His hands had moved to grab at his elbows. His embarrassment was telling. The medic stared on, and dots began to connect. Started just days ago, after multiple hand-to-hand fights with someone he rarely fought before, symptoms of infatuation, and to be this embarrassed over it? There was little doubt in his mind.

"...around someone, maybe?" 

The spy chewed at his lower lip. The nerves were back in full force, and the sniper came to mind. It was only ever around him. The flutter inched its' way into his stomach, feather soft. He knew the answer. He knew the reason. 

"Are you alright?" 

The frenchman met the medic's eye, and he could tell he had pieced it together. He could feel that his cheeks had flushed. He turned away again, looking angry, annoyed at the situation he found himself in. The medic stepped closer, parallel to him now, leaning on the exam table with him. His voice lowered to a whisper between them. 

"It's about zhe sniper, isn't it?"

The spy sighed, almost relaxing at the sound of the truth, but his stubborn disbelief held the tension in his face and hands.

"Ludwig," he started, unmoving, "I have experience. I've slept around. I've paid and been paid, attraction is nothing new to me. But this," he looked over, into the medic's eyes, his own eyes full of worry and pleading for answers. 

"This," he said, "I have never gone through. Romantic feelings, Ludwig, they're foreign to me. I don't know what to do."  

The medic was quiet for a moment, entirely neutral in the face, then a twitching brow of thought. He didn't expect this out of the spy, even less about an enemy. Especially less about that enemy.

"I can't say I have much more experience in zhe field," started the medic, "but those feelings tend to be strongest at the start. Zhey should lessen as time goes on, if that's what you want."

"What other choice would I have?" the spy scoffed softly. "We are professional assassins pitted against each other. Not to mention his general lack of hygiene." He sneered slightly. "We have nothing in common."

"Actually, zhat's already one thing. The same job. And I happen to know of another thing," the medic said with a slight awkward grin. "I had been meaning to bring it up but didn't get around to it."

"Hm?"

"Well," he started with a breath, "both of you have had traumatic events of similar severity, and both have left similar physical and mental scarring. I told Herbert to ask zhe sniper if he would be willing to talk about it with you, as a form of release, like therapy. I hadn't had the chance to ask you."

The spy stayed still and quiet, brow furrowed, looking off ahead of him. He had a point...such similar jobs and experiences. It wouldn't be like explaining it all to an uninitiated stranger. Hell, he'd managed to calm him down a decent amount during their smoke break together the day before. But again, a hesitation.

"You really think that's a good idea even with these...feelings I'm having?" The spy looked back at the doctor now, who tilted his head in consideration.

"I don't see a better way to go about it, honestly. Scientifically speaking, romantic attraction should make you more receptive to what he says."

A groan in response. The frenchman did not like the use of the word 'romantic' in context to his rival. Ludwig hummed.

"You know," said the doctor, "the faster you accept what you're feeling, the faster the feelings will go away. If that's what you want." He looked away with a trace of a smile on his face. The spy squinted at him.

"It's the second time you say that. Are you implying I should pursue a romantic relationship with my professional rival, doctor?"

The medic shrugged slightly before pushing off of the exam table and walking back over to the refrigerator to resume his organization.  

"All I'm saying," said Ludwig, "is that there are many mental benefits to a relationship. I do think it would be enriching for you, if he does prove to be a fitting partner. I would say it has a better prognosis than all zhe other things you mentioned, anyway."

The spy stayed quiet. He hadn't given any thought to actually leaning in to these feelings and exploring what could happen. Specifically because that was a ridiculous, illogical, unrealistic, stupid thought. They were rivals in work and opposites in life, there was no point in even imagining if the feeling was mutual. The doctor was right, of course, the sooner he accepted it the sooner they would diminish...but what if they didn't? In his line of work, with his focus on the aussie, what if they stayed? What if they strengthened? But a voice in the back of his head, an emotional lapse disguised as hope, questioned, would that be so bad? He sighed and shook his head. Tres bon, he thought, so many people to choose from and you pick the one who pisses in jars. It'd be hilarious if he wasn't the one going through it.

"I appreciate your advice, mon ami," said the spy after a moment. He stood up and straightened his suit jacket. "You've given me much to think about." 

Ludwig replied with a little smile and a good luck! as the spy began to walk off. He received a hum and a little wave in return, then the spy was gone. Out of the medical room, into and down the hallway. He was so wrapped up in his mind and the new thoughts within that he didn't notice the silence around him. He didn't notice the eyes on his back, watching him take to the ladder and disappear into the tunnel. 

Chapter Text

          Another day, another payload map. Nothin' special, Mundy thought to himself as he pulled on his uniform shirt. He moved slowly, with a less than content look on his face. His brows were set hard, lips drawn into a tight scowl. Truth be told, he had had a little more trouble getting up today than usual. One of his "antisocial days," was what Herbert called it. Everyone gets them, the doctor had said, with a smile and a dismissive wave of his hand. The barracks were quiet, empty besides him, which he was thankful for at the moment. Everyone else was probably at the lockers already, readying their weapons. It was almost time for transport, but Mick had urged himself out of bed only a few minutes ago. Things were just hard today. He sighed, work on his mind as he pulled on his vest and readied his gear. He frequently thought about work to distract himself, the strategies he could use, what the day ahead held for him. Swiftwater should make for an easy match, at least. There were a couple of really good sniping spots. There was that little tunnel section he could always get ahead of, but if he really wanted to he could follow his team in and just stick to his melee...

A sound from the door. The aussie froze. There was a little prick of dread in his chest as he heard his medic's voice from a few feet away.

"Mundy? Are you in here?"

A quiet sigh.

"Yeah, doc. What'cha need?"

He heard mutterings of ah, perfect and footsteps approaching before the doctor's head poked around the barracks hallway door.

"I wanted to ask about your smoke break with the spy at ze burger place, since we didn't get to talk about it that night."

There was a twinge of rage within the sniper. God, he had nearly forgotten about that.

"Y'know, I did wanna ask," said the sniper, brow furrowing further as he turned to face the medic, "why you'd ask me in front o' the whole team knowin' I didn't want that gettin' out."

Herbert seemed taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. He responded, eyes wide.

"So you know?"

"Whuh- know bloody what?" spat the sniper, arms folded tight. "All I know is you asked me a personal question in front of my team, doc. You have to know that's wrong."

Mick continued getting ready to the tune of a momentarily speechless medic. He spoke as he tied his shoe.

"Look, I'm not havin' it today. If it ain't an apology, I don't wanna hear it."

"Sniper," started the medic, slowly, "I didn't know you felt so strongly about-"

"You didn't bloody know?"

Mundy straightened up, stepping towards the medic. His eyes were stone cold, glaring directly into the doctor's. He spoke in a growl through his teeth.

"I don't want the blokes thinkin' I ain't in my right mind 'cause of some- some shoddy surgery work."

Mick stepped past the medic, bumping his shoulder as he passed him.

"It's about privacy, doc," he said, taking his hat from the hook on the wall. "It's about respect. Now if it ain't an apology, I don't. Want. To hear it."

With that, the aussie slipped on his hat and left the room, leaving a shocked medic in his wake. A few seconds passed before Herbert snapped out of it and started towards the locker room, deep in thought. Shoddy surgery work, tsk...he did all he could with experimental technology. He brought him back from the dead, for god's sake. Did the sniper really feel that asking about romantic intention like that was that much of an overstep? Evidently he'd thought it was a breach of privacy, but now that reaction had felt excessive. But then what else could he possibly have been asking about? What could a sniper and his rival spy be talking about that-

Herbert's step stuttered. The scars. Of course. The dots were finally connecting in his mind. Sniper might have assumed he was actually asking about their mental struggles, in which case that aggression made much more sense. But then, if he had assumed as much, they likely had talked about their scars...and the sniper might not even suspect anything about the spy's feelings towards him. He pushed through the locker room doors with his newfound clarity. The regular groups had formed, but a little quieter than usual. He assumed they noticed Mundy's mood and toned it down. He started to make his way to the lone sniper to clarify his question, but if looks could kill, the glare he received would have been a .300 bullet to the frontal lobe.

It's a good thing he can respawn.

"Sniper!"

The glare only intensified. At this point there would have been a pound of lead in his skull, but luckily for the doctor, the aussie had some restraint.

"You'd better be here to apologize." A dark grumble escaped the sniper, loud enough for just the doctor to hear.

"Ach, no," chuckled the medic, with that little wave of his hand. That goddamn invalidating, dismissive wave. Like he didn't care what you were saying, the important thing was what he had to say. Mundy felt that he saw that fucking wave every time they spoke, and every time he felt brushed off. Ignored. A fresh rage within him bubbled and boiled over.

"You see, there was a misunderstanding between us, I-"

He was quickly interrupted by the force of a fully reared fist smashing into the side of his face.

          The BLU spy sat in the mess hall, sipping on a cheap cappuccino. It wasn't his preference, but there weren't any cafes open early enough for him to pick any up before work. Plus, free caffeine works just as well. There were a few more minutes before transport, and the spy was using them to think. Swiftwater was a favorite map among defensive snipers like the RED, so his team would want him focused. He'd thought a lot about the sniper the night before. Like Ludwig said, the faster he accepted, the faster the feelings would go away. He wouldn't call it acceptance just yet, but he had reached acknowledgement. It was a step above denial, at least. He sat in the empty quiet of the mess hall until his engineer popped in for some food.

"Mornin', spy," Dell said with a little smile. The spy smiled back.

"Allo. Having a good morning?"

"Yeah, good 'nough." The engie opened and started rummaging through the fridge as he spoke. "Hey, you had the chance to talk to the sniper yet?"

The spy raised an eyebrow.

"Theo? No, not yet. Why?"

"Oh, no," chuckled the engineer as he stood from the fridge. "Not ours. The RED."

He sat across from the spy and worked at the wrapper of a breakfast sandwich. The spy stared at him, tense. Calculating. Certainly Ludwig hadn't spilled about his feelings, right? Certainly not. Those familiar knots formed in his stomach as he spoke. Still uncomfortable, but now familiar.

"...what business would I have with him?"

Dell spoke through a dense mouthful of cold sandwich.

"Mm, 'bout your scars." He spoke quietly, glancing at the door. "Did doc not tell you?"

"Oh," replied the spy. That made more sense. He was a tad taken aback at the fact that Dell had known, but with the closeness of between him and Ludwig, it made sense. It was something of a mental flashbang to be reminded of his scars, too. He was good at forgetting about them on the job.

"He told me just last night," continued the frenchman. "I haven't had the chance."

"Whut- last night? Been half a week since we talked about that."

"It's possible he just hadn't had the opportunity. I'll see about talking to him anyhow."

Dell thought for a moment.

"I wonder if he'll give you the time o' day. How're you gonna ask if you're always fighting? I've never seen him come 'n hang out during setup."

The spy took a drink. Dell had a point. How were they supposed to plan something if they were constantly at each other's throats? Perhaps he could introduce the idea while invisible. The sniper should be understanding enough to hold a momentary truce, yes? If not, he could manage the question through the dance of machete-dodging.

          The RED had just been transported to spawn. The usual chaos of excitement and battle cries rang out, but it felt just a little hesitant and uncomfortable. It also missed the motivation from their currently stone cold sniper and their medic, who was nursing the side of his face. Transport didn't heal quite as well as respawn did. The team began to split and run from the exit. Mundy half-jogged from spawn, lagging behind so he would walk alone, but the solitude was cut short.

"Oye!" came a voice from behind.

Mick slumped a little and slowed, huffing under his breath. His engineer caught up, toolboxes in hand. He looked concerned beneath his cowhide hat.

"Papo, you okay? What was that about, with the doc? I can follow you to your post 'n we can talk if you need."

He didn't seem angry. Misha had looked like he wanted to wring the sniper's neck out, but he'd been held back by the medic himself. Mundy sighed. As much as he wanted to reject the help, he really did feel like crap. Work was a slippery slope in the mood he was in, it was in his and the team's best interest to feel better. He nodded and picked up the pace, and Esteban did the same.

"It ain't much, mate. One 'o my moods. Doc just happened to piss me off right. I ain't proud of it."

"Those happen often?"

Mick turned to look forward. Beneath a forced straight-face exterior, he was ashamed.

"It's always kind of...there. I can hold it back most days, no use boggin' the team down, but it's stronger some days. I nearly never get mean about it."

Esteban mirrored him, and they spoke side by side, through the grass, then the tunnel as they approached the building he would take post in.

"Do you talk to anyone about that, jefe?"

Another sigh and the sniper shook his head.

"I mean, th' medic knows about it but he's no good with mental stuff. I just don't want the boys thinking less of me."

The engineer nodded as the Administrator came on the PA system, warning about the round starting soon. He looked up at Mick, kind, but concerned.

"Mira, that's not good for you, holding all that in. I think you should look into talking to the BLU's spy like doc said. For now, I gotta go set up."

Mundy stayed quiet. Esteban adjusted his toolboxes and turned to start the other way. He looked back for a moment.

"Tell me you'll try. It's for the best, hermano."

The sniper felt a squeeze in his chest. It seemed like the engie truly cared about his well-being as a friend instead of just a teammate or coworker. It wasn't a frequent feeling. He nodded, readying his rifle. His voice was quiet, but genuine.

"Yeah, I will. Thanks, mate."

He turned to the window just as the BLU gates opened. Time to get to work.

The bloodshed started fast. The BLU medic had quickly ubered his soldier and taken advantage of those crit rockets; he'd sent one spiraling directly into the sniper's post before the medic was downed. The BLU spy took this as a breath of air, at least for now, and an opportunity to target other REDs. He bolted from spawn, invisible if just for a moment, skidding to a halt and de-cloaking behind the RED medic, just as his uber disengaged. The doctor couldn't even turn before he felt a blade bury itself between his shoulder blades, and just like that he was replaced with a fake. An easy step forward and the heavy was backstabbed as well, then a quick invis as he slunk behind the cart again to survey his opponents.

Half of the BLU team had taken to the cart, cheering and jeering at the RED as they fought. After a few more stealthy backstabs and avoiding some projectile grenades, the spy noticed his teammates starting to disappear. That time again. As his pyro clutched a bullet wound in his shoulder, the spy ran invisible down the tracks, leaving the firefight in his wake. But along his run was a fully upgraded sentry, hidden behind a little wooden wall around the bend of the tracks. He would need to recharge his cloaking anyways. A quick detour.

The spy skirted the bend, landing behind the sentry, then swiftly de-cloaked and applied his sapper. But he could feel eyes on him; the RED pyro had come out of the building directly across. And the pyro had spotted him. They were sprinting full speed towards him when the spy noticed. He spooked and cloaked, but it was too late; the ball of fire had engulfed him in its' stifling heat. Gunshots and slashes he could get through, but the feeling of being burned alive was one he simply could never get used to. He had been backed against the little wooden wall, and even though he shot through bloodcurdling screams and blistering skin, he was no match for the powerjack that collided with his skull. The pyro stood proud before the burning corpse, turning to deliver a thumbs up to the sniper above. They received a thumbs up and a nod, then ran off, spouting fire towards the BLU as he did.

The RED sniper was back in full swing, at least professionally. Watching the spook burn down definitely lifted his spirits. He did wonder, though, when they'd get the chance to plan meeting up. As he downed the enemy heavy, he wondered if the spy struggled with the scarring as much as he did. That might actually be the root cause of his moods, he thought. That whole experience, trauma and invisible stressors. Maybe the next match he could actually approach the gates and talk to him. For now, though, he was on the clock, and the BLU were making a little too much headway for his liking. 

Scope. BANG! Demo down. Clack-clack.

Scope...BANG! Bodyshot for that twitchy scout. Clack-clack.

Scope...

"Bushman."

To say the sniper startled would be an understatement. The sound that escaped him was not unlike a rubber chicken being stepped on. He jerked forward so aggressively that he nearly fell from the window, but he managed to catch himself on the frame. With a forceful push he was back in the room and swinging his bushwacka, once, twice around him, before pausing to listen and look around, panting from fear and exertion. His face hardened at the sound of a stifled snort-laugh from the corner near him. He lunged.

"You greasy bloody weasel!!" 

He stabbed his knife into the corner, but there was nothing. There was a sound of throat-clearing behind him, to which he whirled around and swung with a guttural sound.

"RRAGH! SHOW YOURSELF, YOU COWARDLY BASTARD!!"

The sniper snatched a jar of piss and lobbed it at the center of the room. It coated the ground, splattered up and hit all four walls, and yet...nothing. 

He stood still, watching, listening. It was nearly silent in the room. The sound of droplets hitting the ground, the sound of his heavy breath, the rusted pulley wheel above him creaking. And the rope attached to it was moving. He paused and followed it down with his eyes. 

Sure enough, a urine-soaked, gloved hand was gripping the rope. From below the hole in the floorboards, another hand appeared, grabbing the rope a little further up and pulling. The pulley creaked. The figure looked up, peeking through the hole, disappointment and disgust saturating his every feature. He finally spoke again.

"What zhe hell is it with you and piss?"

Mundy's response was to jam the tip of his machete into the floor, right by the spy's hands. He knelt close to the face below. 

"Tell me why I shouldn't cut ya down and let my team deal with you. Or why I shouldn't just kill you off myself." 

His voice was low and guttural, but the most it received from the spy was an eye roll. 

"You take your work far too seriously. Give it a momentary truce and I'll tell you." 

The spy extended a sodden, shaky hand through the floorboards. There were so many things the sniper thought to do. He could laugh and cut him down, crush his hand, cut it off, let him fall, kill him right there. All ruthless, cold, efficient. And yet...he felt he should hear him out. The spy had had plenty of chances to kill him before, and knowing the grit of the man, he wouldn't offer a truce as a way of tricking and overpowering him. He had no weapons in his hands, he was calm, and at a complete disadvantage...the sniper had standards, and morals to a point. They were similar in that way.

Mundy clutched the hand and pulled. He held fast as the spy shimmied back through the small gap. How he had gotten down there to begin with was a mystery to the aussie. Once he was back on his feet, the spy slunk to the wall closest the window facing the battle, staying out of sight. He looked back up at the sniper, his breathing ever so slightly labored. The aussie was still hunched, looking ready for a fight, his features dipping in and out of the harsh shadows of the post. There was a rugged handsomeness about him in the dramatic light. 

"Thank you," spoke the spy with a breath.  

A grunt in return as the sniper pulled his blade free and holstered it.

"Make this quick."

"How conversational you are," sneered the spy. But he continued.

"Look, Ludwig wants me to talk to you regarding traumas and scars and whatnot. He mentioned your medic would have said something like that to you too, yes?"

Something in the sniper relaxed, but he didn't let it show. It made sense, trying to talk to him while invisible to plan it out, but he had just been so on edge today that it landed wrong. Mick straightened up a little.

"Yeah. They keep sayin' it'd be good for me." 

"As do mine," replied the spy. "Shall we meet, say, tomorrow night to try it?"

The sniper thought a moment, then nodded slowly.

"I can do tomorrow."

"And where?" 

Both fell silent in thought. The sniper perked.

"There's an old hardware store I like to camp at, if that's a good spot. Couple miles north of the gas station, right off the highway." 

The spy stayed quiet for a second. An old hardware store...if he was right, the sniper had just invited him to a talk directly outside of the BLU hidden base. How many abandoned hardware stores could there be in the rural New Mexico desert? The coincidence was staggering, but he held fast. He didn't have to know that's what it was. It did get quite nice there with the sunset and a breeze at dusk. 

"Hm. Not ideal, but I suppose it's the best we can do for that time of night."  

"Aces." 

The spy held back a smirk. Those silly Australian sayings. He noticed the thought that the sniper looked quite nice in this light starting to creep back into his head, now that his main objective had been completed. The shadows were dramatic, the lighting poignant. He looked like he had crawled out of a Caravaggio. Evidently, being soaked in piss could only hold the feelings back so much. Bad sign.

"Well," started the spy, quite suddenly, "That is all I wanted to figure out. You may resume your work." 

He stepped from the corner, moving towards the stairs, staying in the shadows. The sniper cautiously palmed the handle of his machete as the spy stepped past him. The frenchman snickered at the sight. 

"Oh, please. I'll give you a head start." 

He flashed the sniper a sarcastic tight-lipped smile that just barely touched his eyes before vanishing into thin air. Mundy could hear his footsteps trek down the stairs, then fade away. He stood in the silence for a moment, just...amused.  What an unexpected encounter. That spy was a surprisingly agreeable guy when there was need to be. One professional can recognize another. He turned to the window and shook his head in an attempt to refocus his mind. A slight panic overcame him as he noticed the payload had nearly made it to the point he had been overlooking. He ran his supplies down to the lower balcony, and with a swig of coffee and a stick of gum, he was back in the game.

          It was a hard-fought match, but the RED defended against capture well. BLU transported back in surprisingly high spirits, proud of the fight they had put up. Even the spy seemed to smile a little more genuinely than usual. Enough to catch the attention of Alistair, who wrapped an arm around him in celebration, and the offense, who shot each other devious and implicit grins. The spy chuckled, appreciative, but not exactly used to all the positive attention. It made him squirm. Through the mass he clocked Ludwig inching towards escape again with his little bucket, and he excused himself from the excitement to walk with him. 

"Doctor!" 

Ludwig turned, doing a very poor job of hiding his overwhelmed state.

"Ja, spy?"

"Allow me," he said, extending a hand towards the bucket of field-collected organs. Upon seeing the doctor grow slightly confused, the spy leaned in and added, hushed, "I would like to speak to you." 

The medic's eyes widened a little with an oh! and he nodded, holding the bucket out towards him. The two made their way out and down to the medbay. This time, though, the spy did feel eyes on his back. It made the nape of his neck prickle, and any excitement he had felt about meeting the sniper had hardened to stone. He didn't let it show.

They walked in a comfortable silence, but the spy stayed latched onto that feeling of a presence behind them. Light footsteps, a certain tap-tap that indicated wide, flat-soled shoes. A slight smell of poor quality beer. The soft, rhythmic fwump of something solid against fabric. He knew who it was.

 When they reached the doors, the spy motioned for the doctor to step inside. 

"I'll be right in doctor, wait for me," he said with a reassuring smile. It fell away uncannily quickly the moment the doors closed. 

"Theo," said the spy, turning his head ever so slightly. "Espionage is my job. Stick to your bow and arrow." 

The sniper behind him stopped. He looked surprised for a moment, then smirked.  

"Bloody sixth sense," he chuckled.

The spy turned to face him fully.

"Why exactly have you been watching me?"

"I ain't watchin' ya, mate, I just had a question," replied the sniper with shrug. He took a breath to continue, but the spy began before the sniper could.

"If it could wait until tomorrow, please, or just later tonight. I have something to go over with the medic." 

The huntsman gave it a thought. 

"I mean, if you're comin' in a little early, we can do that. It's about tactics against the RED's sniper, since it seems you're gettin' close with 'im and all." 

The spy furrowed his brow, and his arms folded. Close with him? Strange way to put it. Was he just talking about their combat? Surely the doctor hadn't talked about his feelings with the rest of the team. Man, that was a constant worry of his. Talk about trust issues. 

"If by close you mean I'm targeting him more directly, then yes. I was ordered to," spoke the spy dryly. 

Theo was smirking, reaching up at the back of his neck to scratch at the longer hair at his neck. 

"Yeah, yeah, that. Jus' meet me tomorrow mornin' and you can tell me all about 'im. I just need a weakness or somethin' for matches." 

He passed by the spy with a nod and a two-fingered salute goodbye. The spy watched him go down the hallway, then up the ladder until well after he'd disappeared into the surface tunnel, then stayed still a moment longer. What a strange interaction. Theo had had no reason to creep behind him like that, like he had genuinely tried to go undetected. He turned slowly towards the medbay to enter. All he'd wanted to do was update Ludwig on the RED sniper situation, let him know they'd be meeting up soon. Now thinking, maybe it wasn't the best idea to meet him at the base, what with the risk of admin catching their talk on camera. He might try and change plans, he thought. And into the medbay he went.   

          In the RED base, Mundy had taken to the dining room, listening down the hall as his mates left for home. The fight was a good one, distracting enough, but back in the quiet of the base there wasn't much else to think about. It was one of those days where he hadn't felt like much for human interaction after the match. He couldn't place the whole feeling, but his ribs were aching some. Along his abs and chest, it felt like his old scars were itching again. He thought he might be right about them being the root of his moods. No matter how good a day he might have had, that constant creeping upset could ruin it easily. As he scrounged around for leftovers, trying to distract himself, the scout poked his head into the room, and directly under it was the curious mask of their pyro.

"Hey, Munds! Py and me are gonna catch a movie in the game room, you wanna watch with us?"

Mick forced a little smile at the use of a less-than-preferred nickname.

"Ah nah, mate, I was thinkin' of goin' down early tonight. You two have fun."

"Alright, gramps," snickered Jeremy, before perking up with an oh! and pushing fully through the door. The gas mask beneath him tilted up questioningly.

"Let's get some snacks, py!"

Pyro jumped up and spoke excitedly before following the scout inside. The sniper groaned internally as the two made their way to the cabinets nearby and began rummaging through. They won't be long, he thought to himself, sighing. They chattered as they scavenged, and as much as Mundy didn't want to hear, there just wasn't much else to tune it out with.

"You ready to get the pants scared offa ya, mumbles?"

"Mmph hmn huddah hm?"

"Yeah, it's one of them slashing types. Guy on the poster's got this freaky skin mask thing on his face? All stitched together and gross lookin'." The scout spoke with a genuine disgust. Mundy froze.

"The ad says it actually happened!"

"Mrrph!" said the pyro, recoiling slightly in fear. Neither noticed the uncomfortable stillness of their sniper.

"Oh, you'll be alright, pally," the scout said with a smile, "we can grab your balloony-thing before. These look good, right?"

He held up an opened bag of chips in an attempt to read the expiration date. Both he and the pyro shrugged after a moment, and the scout tucked them under his arm to take with him.

"Ooh, grab us a drink! I got some limited edition Bonk in the fridge. It tastes like radioactive lemonade."

The pyro bounded over to the fridge, from which the sniper stiffly backed up to let them in. As the pyro searched the fridge, the scout checked his watch.

"Oh crap! Let's go, let's go, it's starting!!"

The masked merc stumbled back with an armful of soda cans and the two made a dash for the door.

"G'night, snipes!" went the voice of the scout through the door, followed by a muffled goodnight! from the pyro as they disappeared into the hallway. A distant mm escaped the sniper, who stood limp and glassy-eyed before the fridge. The scout's voice ricocheted in his head.

All stitched together. Gross-looking.

Louder and louder. Stitched. All stitched together.

Gross-looking.

His hand hovered in front of his chest. His ribs ached. He felt like his organs were writhing inside him, misplaced. Stitched together. His muscles and skin tingled and itched. He was cold from the air of the refrigerator. Cold like the dead.

Mick took a breath and blinked a few times, eyes dry from staying wide open. He could so clearly envision the feeling of reviving, his furthest extremities breathing with life again after having sat frozen and bloodless for a time. How his organs had shifted when he first stood back up. He balled his hovering hand into a fist and closed the refrigerator door hurriedly before turning and making his way back to the hallway. Gross-looking. He wasn't hungry anymore.

Down the hallway he went, hearing the chatter of the television set from the game room. He kept walking, eyes empty, and turned down towards the barracks. He stopped. Half-conscious, he decided to keep walking and ascend the ladder to sleep in the camper tonight. Just him and the stars. The ladder tunnel echoed with his steps the same way his mind echoed with disgust. 

It was nice outside. A slight breeze, twilight sinking into deep night. He entered the camper.

The voice resurfaced as he got ready for bed, as he took off his uniform shirt and pants. It whispered in his ear.

All stitched together.

His hands gripped the hem of his undershirt. They ignored all mental instruction to take the shirt off, tightening around the edge instead, feeling the stitches in the hem, white-knuckled.

Gross-looking.

He couldn't even bring himself to brush his teeth.

Chapter Text

          Mundy awoke the next day feeling only mildly better. A soft sunrise light came filtered through the curtains in the window. He rose from his bed to turn off his raucous alarm, then stretched where he stood, trying not to think of the sounds of his back cracking and popping. Avoiding eye contact with the mirror, he took an old uniform shirt from the hamper and pulled it on. He kept telling himself he'd get them cleaned the next day, but he never got around to it. Pants on, shoes on, and as he was pushing his hair back to slide his had on, there was a curt couple of knocks on the camper door. He sighed. 

The RED heavy stood outside the camper door, drowning it in shadow. He watched through a hard brow, arms folding as his sharpshooting teammate opened it up, and spooked just slightly at the mountain of the man outside. The sniper's eyes looked dark, tired. Misha took a breath. 

"Good morning, sniper. I wanted to ask about outburst with doktor yesterday."  

Mick stood for a moment. He knew not to be afraid of Misha. He was a level-headed guy off the field, kind and even sweet if he liked you, but it was hard not being intimidated by someone whose bicep was larger than your thigh. An arm raised to fidget with his hat. 

"Look, mate," he started, eyes down in shame, "I really am sorry. It had been a hard mornin' to begin with, and the doc's got this habit that makes me feel terrible when he does it. Everythin' lined up an' I guess I just...lost it." 

The heavy could tell there was true remorse in the sniper's words. His shoulders relaxed slightly as he thought. 

"Did you tell him that?"

"...not really," replied Mick with a grimace. That was partially on him. The heavy hummed. 

"You should."

Misha shifted his arms, and they rested comfortably at his hip now. He spoke again.

"I know doktor can be difficult to talk to. Very focused on himself. Sometimes he need...consequences to listen. Punch to face might not be best way to do it," he paused, glancing into the sniper's eyes. Mick's gaze darted away with shame, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. Misha nodded slightly. 

"But it will work, I think," he finished.  

Mundy sighed, his hand coming down to rub at the back of his neck. 

"Yeah. I'll talk to 'im when I get in. I'm feelin a little better today." 

Misha nodded and hummed in approval. He looked the sniper up and down for a moment. 

"You are ready?" 

"Almost, just missin' my gear." 

The heavy stepped back from the door just a bit. 

"I wait. We walk to base together. Is good to have company." 

Mundy looked up at him. He had just sucker-punched the man's husband yesterday, seemingly unprovoked from his point of view, and yet there was a kindness in his eye. Offering company, like he knew the struggle, that it was bad being alone in a mood like that. A hint of a smile from the sniper.

"Thanks, mate."

          The BLU spy had just parked at his base. He blinked in the light of the rising sun, gathering the mental will to get out of his nicely air conditioned car. In about 12 hours' time, he would be sitting someplace with an enemy. Just talking, watching the sun set. He tried fervently to ignore the eager little voice in his head that said that sure does sound a lot like a date. Obviously it wasn't. It was basically a free therapy session. Nothing more, nothing less. 

He stepped out of the car and into the arid desert heat. At least their map today wasn't a dreadfully hot one. Junction was compact, but very nicely temperature controlled. And hey,  it was hellish for a sniper. The spy entered the old store, waded through floating dust and debris, then descended the ladder like he did every day. A thumping beat floated its' way from the locker room into the hallway. As the spy approached, he recognized it to be a local rock station playing on the scout's radio, a station the young man frequented. The spy scoffed slightly to himself, more partial to classic jazz himself. He walked through the door. 

"Hey, mornin' pal," came the voice of the scout, through a poorly stifled yawn. 

"Hello, frenchie!" came the much more energetic sound of the soldier's voice. 

"Hello." from the spy, through his deadpan face. He turned to look through his locker for a book and some cigarettes, already starting to tune out the sounds of the locker room, but the scout broke through.

"Oh, hey," he said, speaking without moving from his locker, "did Theo talk to ya?"

The frenchman hummed, remembering now the conversation from the night before, as well as that strange silent stalking his sniper had done. He drew a cigarette box from his locker and closed it before turning towards the scout. No use in grabbing the book.

"No, I just came in. Do you know where he went?"

The scout shrugged, rifling absentmindedly through his own locker. 

"He went down the hallway, probably in the rec room or the mess hall." 

The spy nodded a thank you to the scout, and then a nod to the soldier as well, who waved enthusiastically back, then, with a small sigh, turned to find his sniper. 

Theo had, in fact, gone to the mess hall to prepare for the match. Much like his RED counterpart, he required a close to dangerous dose of caffeine in the morning, but there was one crucial difference; Theo needed a little cream and sugar in his. He stood before the coffee maker and watched it drip, breathing in the smell. Dell sat behind him at the table, chowing down on some breakfast. He always made sure to fuel up before a match. With a little content sound, the sniper poured out two to-go cups of fresh coffee, lightened them up with cream and sugar, then walked them over to the table. He placed one before the engineer and received a smile and a much obliged spoken through a mouthful of breakfast. The aussie raised his cup slightly in cheers, then sat down to enjoy it some before the countdown. It was around this point that the spy appeared in the door, and the sniper perked up. 

"Crouton! You remembered! Get over 'ere, sit by me an' we'll chat."

The spy stood for a moment, already regretting this decision, but did as he'd said.

"I doubt my advice could help you, since we fight so differently." 

The sniper scoffed, rolling his eyes. The spy's deadpan deepened into a look of slight annoyance. Theo didn't seem to take note.

"Look, spy, I'll take all I can get. Sick o' that campin' prick takin' me out before I can get to 'im." 

"If we must," he sighed, brows hard. "What do you want to know?" 

"Weaknesses, brah, anything to take 'im down." 

The spy held back a groan. 

"Close quarters are his worst enemy, but then again, they're yours as well. He's not as good in hand-to-hand combat." 

"And you'd know plenty about that, ey? I've seen some o' your skirmishes," chuckled the aussie, delivering a playful one-two punch to the spy's shoulder, which the spy decided to ignore completely. He had never wished for his workday to start so badly. 

"Stay closer to him. You're better in closer range anyways, with a bow and arrow. His line of sight is very restricted when he's scoped as well. Don't stand still too long if you're in his field of sight. Outside of that it's a manner of aiming and actually hitting your target." 

The spy watched the aussie's face, just to witness that jab register. Sure enough, Theo's cheeky grin faltered and fell, and his brow tensed. 

"Awright, mate, I'd like to see you do better with-"

"FIVE MINUTES UNTIL TRANSPORT!"

The spy jerked to his feet, choking back a chuckle as he excused himself, very busy, they only had five minutes after all, and he slipped from the dining room door. He allowed himself a laugh once he had cleared earshot, then walked down the way towards the lockers. 

The BLU sniper sat alone at the table now, teeth clenched. Dell had risen from the table to get ready to leave as well, and he motioned for the huntsman from the door. Performance was a very sore spot for the sniper. He insisted on using a bow and arrow as his primary but he, simply put, was no good at it. He got up and joined the engie, still seething under his showy cowboy hat. Dell chuckled nervously.

"Y'know he means nothin' by it, son, it's friendly banter," he assured the sniper, but he received only a bitter grunt in reply. 

          The teams collected in their lobbies as the administrator counted down. The RED sniper and medic had spoken, and Herbert had promised to try harder. Not the most satisfying conclusion to the sniper, but it was better than where they'd stood before. The lobby was back to being a buzz of pregame excitement. The BLU was similar, with the energy spearheaded by the soldier and sniper. The spy thought he seemed especially pumped for today's match, likely because of their talk. He hoped he wouldn't regret it. 

"THREE!" 

Shuffling weapons, the cracking of joints in preparation.

"TWO!"

Metal on metal, guns being loaded and cocked. 

"ONE!" 

And the boys were off, thrown into the metallic, sterile cold of Junction. War cries reverberated off the walls, and the BLU could hear the RED approaching from across the map. The BLU split neatly in half, whooping excitedly at either point door, waiting for setup to be over. From the door by Point B's window, they could see a few defense and support setting up. Most of their own were waiting by A, and that was where the spy usually stuck, but this time he stood, undisguised, de-cloaked, before the window outside Point B. He peered outwards, ignoring the strange looks he was getting from his teammates. It was out of the regular for him, but nothing egregious. Besides, he couldn't see the sniper. The timer wound down, and with a huff he turned down towards the exit for point A, cloaking when he reached it. He must be there.

"START FIGHTING!!"

The discordant music of war began. Immediately, RED rockets began breaching the door leading from the upstairs register to Point A, some blasted back by the BLU pyro. But rockets could only hold them back so long, and half the BLU soon trickled from the corridor, guns ablaze. The BLU pyro and heavy had entered the arena, soon joined by their demo and sniper. The spy, disguised now as their scout, darted from the door, watching and listening. Rifle shots were ringing out from the right, and he watched as Theodore was stricken down. A small, pulsing bubble of deep red grew and spilled over his forehead. A knot formed in the spy's stomach, and he bolted for the Point B door on his right: there was a platform there, and that's where he would surely find the sniper. 

Up the stairs, to the left, and there he was. Scope, shoot, rack, scope, shoot, rack. The flutter reared its' ugly head, and there was a sensation like little fireworks in the spy's stomach as he watched him. Unbearable. He ignored it and readied his knife under cover of disguise, but the sniper had heard him. He shot the spy, unscoped, then opted for his bushwacka with an angry gaahh! as he lunged at him. The spy replied with a guttural groan, blocking the snipers' arm with his own. He raised and plunged his dagger into the side of the snipers' torso, and the disguise fell away. Mick's eyes widened, then grew fierce. 

"You weasel, you-rrgh!"

He jerked his arm free and slashed at the spy, who hissed in pain, but lunged at him again. This time, though, he drove the hilt of the dagger into the sniper's abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. The aussie, wheezed, wide-eyed as the machete fell from his grasp. The spy took this chance to ram into him, pinning him to the wall with one hand on his wrist and the other on his collarbone, pushing hard. The sniper exhaled harshly, squirming under his grasp, still gasping for breath, but the spy spoke, panting.

"We have to...to talk about tonight. Bad, bad meeting place," he huffed, about as succinct as he could be. The sniper watched him, listening, but he wasn't going to just give him this fight.

"Right," he choked out, and then he planted a swift palm strike with his free hand into the spy's midsection. Caught by surprise, the frenchman stumbled back, wheezing. The sniper moved forward, machete at the ready. He hooked an arm around the spy's neck, pulling him closer, and just barely pressed his bushwacka into the spy's abdomen. With a snicker, he whispered in the inches between their faces.

"You let me know when. Wink at me or somethin' so I know. See ya in five." 

And, using his free arm as leverage, he plunged the blade clear through him. 

The BLU spy respawned with a flutter in his stomach and an impressed smirk on his face. The bastard had caught him off guard. They'd been so close, he could smell cinnamon on the sniper's breath. He noticed the smile on his face and quickly cut it out. Back into the fray he went, giving B Point a visit now. That sniper shouldn't be too much of an annoyance in such a tight space as this. 

The fight continued, and with a proper push from the BLU soldier and his kritzkrieg-wielding medic (and a few backstabs by their spy), they took Point B. From there, most of the BLU met up to storm Point A, but the tight space of the access point allowed for a bottleneck of defense from the RED. The BLU soldier and demo were able to jump directly onto the point, but the defense up top was strong as well, with a sentry in place. The firefight was a strong one, and the BLU spy thought that this chaos was perhaps the best cover they would get for a chat. Since Point B had been taken, there was a shadowy corner by access stairs leading from B to C that would be empty. It was well hidden from RED spawn as well. 

And so the spy watched for any disappeared member of RED. Their spy was nowhere to be found, so the spy equipped that disguise. He cloaked, then approached the sniper's post. He hadn't moved since their last encounter, since it was the best vantage point he could have in a space this tight. He de-cloaked as he approached him, and cleared his throat. The sniper took the shot he had set up, and he turned as the dying screams of the BLU medic rang out. He met the spy's eye. 

"What's up, mate?" 

The spy gestured towards the passageway behind him, and gave the sniper a casual wink. 

"Follow me." 

Mick moved to stand, but an arrow came whizzing between the two and lodged itself in the wall behind them. He quickly ducked and took up his rifle, muttering.

"Hold on, one more for the road..."

The gunshot rang out, and it was followed by an agonized, enraged scream from the huntsman. As the spy snickered to himself, the sniper took his rifle and stood, now with a nod. He followed the double agent through the corridor, dodging a screeching RED soldier who paid them no mind. As they neared RED spawn, the spy slowed. He gestured towards the shaded corner, across the open area.

"That corner there." 

The sniper hummed in response as the spy cloaked, and he made his way across quickly. He could hear the footsteps alongside him from the invisible spy. This all had felt so rebellious, sneaking around with an enemy to plan an outing. The sniper chuckled to himself as he slowed and stopped, tucked into the dark corner. A voice came from the empty space before him. 

"What was that about?" 

"Hm?" 

"You laughed," the spy said. He sounded amused. 

"Ah , well," started the sniper, shaking his head, "this just feels so rebellious, like a teenager sneakin' out at night. 'S funny t' me cause I was never that kinda kid." 

The spy chuckled back. It was a smooth sound, prim and proper. A soft warmth came across the sniper's face as he chuckled with the spy, embarrassed. 

"I see it," replied the spy. "But we can talk more tonight. For now, we need to choose a different meeting place." 

"Should I even ask why?" 

"I wouldn't tell you either way." 

"I thought so," the sniper snickered.

The spy smiled, unseen. Mick was quite the conversational match for the spy's humor. He was a quick thinker, witty when comfortable. He was easy to talk to. 

"You mentioned a convenience store, yes?" asked the spy. "Should we meet there?" 

"Yeah, that might work. It's the only servo I've found on the highway."

"Servo?" 

"A gas station, frenchie," chuckled the sniper. "I gotta teach ya to speak proper Aussie." 

"A tempting offer, but no thanks. Besides," said the spy, putting on his worst Australian accent, "I already speak aussie, mate." 

Mundy physically cringed, grimacing through a laugh. 

"You wanker, I know bloody well you can pull a better accent than that."   

"Perhaps," came the voice of the spy, further away now. 

"Bloody mongrel," he snickered to himself. The sniper shook his head, drawing his machete to walk back with. 

Then, from even further down the corridor: "I heard that." 

The fight went on a while longer. BLU was able to capture Point B, but a very well placed sentry and some strong defense meant the RED were able to keep C under their control, winning them the match. The usual transport and return routines were carried out, nightly duties, weapons were put up and goodbyes were exchanged. The BLU spy emerged from the underground ladder, and as he stepped foot on solid surface ground, his stomach lit up with electric feeling. He had an inkling that this meeting would only solidify this schoolboy's crush he had. With his usual disguise applied, he left the little store and entered his car. He was surprisingly nervous beneath the juvenile excitement he felt. He had never entrusted someone with the kind of information he was going to reveal to the sniper, the closest being a vague overview he gave his engineer during a breakdown. It was an extremely vulnerable thing to do, and to just give it to an enemy so willingly? It seemed like an astonishingly stupid idea from the outside. But something about the sniper felt trustworthy, like he wasn't the kind of man to use that information against him.

         Mundy was thinking the very same as he pulled into the convenience store parking lot. He had never divulged the entirety of his story like that to anyone. He loved his team, sure, but he couldn't bear anybody knowing the kind of struggles he went through, although a handful of them had witnessed the aftermath. There was about to be another name added to that list. It felt strange to have an enemy to open up to, he thought. Strange, but not unwelcome. He would understand. He watched the sun approach the horizon, listening to the hum of the engine and the music coming from the radio. He didn't have to wait very long for the spy to arrive. 

A little ivory-colored Porsche rolled into the parking lot. Mundy hadn't ever seen the spy's car, but one look at that one said it was him. No one else with a car that nice would be coming through this part of town. It slowed, then approached the camper when Mundy waved through the driver's side window. The Porsche parked beside him, and the visage of the BLU engineer stepped out. They were parked about as far away as you could be from the store itself, tucked in a little corner of the lot. The sniper got up and crossed to the back of his living space, poking his head out from the access door and motioning the spy inside. He obliged. 

The space was compact, but not excessively cramped. It was surprisingly clean too, given that the sniper had been quick to shove his overflowing hamper in a little storage space. The thought of having company had motivated him enough to finally clean up a little. The spy took it in for a moment. 

"Cozy," he said. 

"It is, idn'it. Make yourself comfortable, you can sit on th' bed or the table there. Didja wanna talk in here?" 

The spy peered at the little bench seats, covered in a brightly colored floral pattern. It looked clean. He opted to stay standing.  

"It doesn't matter to me," replied the spy. "Though I will stay disguised if we do go outside." 

"The sunsets are gorgeous out there, mate. That alright with you?"

"You won't mind that I stay disguised?" 

"Nahh," said the sniper, smiling softly. "I get it. Y'said you're most comfortable like that anyhow." 

The spy stayed quiet a moment. For the sniper to prioritize his comfort over seeing him felt...unexpected? Perhaps it was his own mental process of preparing for the worst, but he had expected more of a push about him un-disguising. He had even remembered his preference from their only other interaction outside of work. He nodded slowly. 

"That sounds good, then." 

The sniper stood with a nod, standing and reaching into a storage cubby nearby. He pulled out a fresh towel. 

"Awright. We'll sit up on the roof. I've got an access ladder on the back of 'er, I'll set this down for you to sit on and help you up. Thought it'd keep that suit o' yours clean." 

The sniper smiled nervously as the spy looked at the towel. He tried his damndest to hide it, but he was alight inside once again. God, did he have to be so thoughtful? So much care put into keeping the spy comfortable, doing what was best for him, the man was a sweetheart. He was almost put off by his kindness, just not used to that sort of treatment. The spy looked up at him with a hint of a smile. 

"Thank you. It means a lot, really. Let's go." 

That seemed to ease Mundy's nerves, and he smiled a little more earnestly. Out the door he went, then up the ladder. The spy watched him disappear towards the front of the camper for a moment, then reappear at the top of the ladder. He extended a hand as the spy approached it.

"Come on, then." 

The spy began to climb the ladder, but hesitated to reach for the hand. 

"You're sure it'll hold us both?"

"Very sure, she's held half the RED up here before. Heavy included." 

A little smile as the spy took a breath, then clasped the outstretched hand. 

The view was surprisingly lovely from the rooftop. Cottonball clouds drifted lazily above them, collecting yellows and oranges from the setting sun before them. The two sat side by side, watching the sun set. The spy produced his cigarette case and offered the sniper a smoke. He took one with a thankful nod, and held it between his lips. The frenchman did the same, bringing up his lighter. The sniper moved in, putting the tips of their cigarettes together as the spy brought the lighter up to meet them. The air stood still for the spy. He felt his heart stutter. Warmed by firelight, illuminated by the red-orange of the setting sun, he watched the sniper nurse the flame, sheltering it with a free hand. And just like that they pulled away, with cigarettes alight and the spy's heart aflutter. After a moment of sweet silence, the spy cleared his throat and spoke, acting as close to normal as he could.

"So, never the rebellious kid, hm?" 

The sniper chuckled. 

"Heh, yeah. Mum and dad were a real shelterin' type. They loved me, sure, but they raised me with a strict hand. Never had anything worth being rebellious for." 

There was a cast of sorrow in his eyes, and the spy wasn't much different. He nodded thoughtfully.

"Mine were similar. They were busy people, put me in every extracurricular they could to take up my time. They didn't really care if I wanted to do it or not. I learned to rebel and evade. Those skills were actually what caught the eye of Ms. Pauling when she was recruiting." 

The spy chuckled softly, recounting. The sniper glanced at him, curiosity on his face. The spy continued. 

"My parents were wealthy enough that we lived comfortably. A big house, instructors for every musical instrument you could think of, a cook, housekeeper. Nothing extravagant, but it was comfortable."

"Nothing extravagant?" the sniper repeated with feigned outrage. "Mate, I grew up in a wooden shack in the bush. A working toilet was extravagant for me." 

"Apologies," said the spy, joining the sniper in a chuckle. "I suppose it was above most. But I hated it, left it as soon as I could. I snuck out one night after my eighteenth birthday, and I impersonated and pickpocketed my way through the first few years of my adult life, long enough to get out of my hometown and into the city. Before I got a job I lived on the street, stealing for money...and I loved every second of it." 

There was a genuine smile on the spy's face as he went on. Mick had never seen him smile so earnestly. He had nice teeth. The sniper listened intently, watching him now. 

"I worked at a bakery for a few years after, performing music on the street on the side. Thanks to my parents, I could play anything you put in front of me. I rediscovered my expensive tastes soon after that, and even though I hated that when I was growing up, it was different now; I had earned it myself. I could choose it for myself, they were my own. Eventually I found myself moved to America, picked up the habit of pickpocketing these dense Americans, and I finally met my match when I tried to pickpocket from Ms. Pauling herself." 

"No!!" shouted the sniper, smiling wide. "And she hired you for that?!" 

The frenchman laughed aloud. 

"It was pure luck that she caught it! Someone bumped into us as I reached, and when she looked to see who had done it, she saw me slipping her wallet into my coat. She beat me black and blue because of it, but dropped a business card on me as she left. She said she didn't even know I was there before she turned, and that she could pay me well if I used those skills to help her." 

The spy concluded his story with a smile and a nod, watching the sniper's reaction. He had covered his mouth in shock, but was smiling so clearly behind his hands. His eyes were crinkled up, and the glow of the setting sun was bringing out the warmth of his face. The spy didn't even noticed the flutters appear. 

"Ripper of an origin story, mate. Wish mine were half as interestin' as that. My dad taught me to hunt, deer and game, I just got real good with a rifle. I was huntin' alone once, sat up in a real isolated post when I heard screams from afar. Used a pair o' binos to scope it out, and I spotted this burly man down the way, rustlin in th' bushes. Saw a lady's hand reach out from below 'im an'...he grabbed it n' forced it back down..."

Both their smiles had fallen. Mundy looked back up at the sky, now blazing with color. He took a drag of his cigarette. The spy watched him, mesmerized by the story, by the man before him. 

"That was the first time I shot a man. I didn't hesitate for a second once I understood the situation. Took one bullet. The lady stood up after, she had on this dress that was all tore up. She tried to look for where the shot came from, looked like she couldn't find it and just ran off." 

The sniper paused, then sighed.

"It was easy to take down monsters. I started advertising, taking jobs after that first kill, and one of the jobs I took was for Pauling. She called it the most efficient job she'd ever seen and offered me a permanent position."

There was a moment of silence between them as they watched the clouds above change colors. It had rolled through fiery oranges and reds, through to purple and deepening to dark blue. The spy snuck a glance at the sniper. He had closed his eyes a moment, just taking in the night. He had gained a newfound respect for the sharpshooter. The man was a hero. 

"I like your story more, Mundy," said the spy, facing forward once again. He leaned back on his arms. 

"It was noble, what you did. I was just a petty street criminal." 

There was a soft chuckle from the sniper. 

"I wouldn't call it noble. I just did what had to be done." 

"That in itself is noble, my friend."  

A thoughtful hum in reply. Mick shifted and laid back, flat on the camper roof, watching the sky above darken. The spy adjusted the towel behind him and did the same. A comfortable quiet settled in. 

One by one, little stars began popping up in the clear spaces of sky.

"Y'know," said the sniper, "I can't even imagine you livin' on the street. You're so clean and all done up. Proper gentleman when you're not tryin' to stab me." 

There was an amused hm-hm from beside him.

"I did what I knew. A lot has changed since then," sighed the spy. It was quiet again for a moment, then the spy turned towards the aussie beside him.

"Sniper?"

"Call me Mick, mate. Mick or Mundy." 

A smile.

"Mick, then," said the spy, turning back to look at the stars above. 

"Why are you so kind to me? We make a living killing each other over and over, but when I got here you went above and beyond just for my comfort. Why?"

The sniper turned to look at him now, visibly surprised by the question. 

"Well, why wouldn't I be, mate? We only hate each other on paper, a contract's a contract. Not to mention the sort o' stuff we're gonna talk about is heavy on the mind. Better to be comfortable."

"I had half a mind not to trust it. I'm not used to such treatment." 

Mundy hummed. 

"I think you deserve it. After the hell you've been through, you deserve kindness."

The spy froze for a moment. His eyes grew sorrowful. He had never had anyone tell him that. Hell, he had never even thought it himself. Life had been unkind, and he had become used to that, even comfortable in it. Emotional neglect, unlawful practices, to choose a hard and isolated life because that was somehow better than what he grew up in. And then a mercenary for hire, paid to kill and die constantly, then beheaded, tortured for months...for the sniper, one of the men he made a living killing, to say he deserved kindness after all of that...

The spy did not cry easily. But there, on the roof of that camper, he watched his vision blur with tears. He smiled softly, glancing at the man laying beside him.

"...I think you deserve that, too." 

Chapter Text

          It was early in the morning the next day. Theo stood alone, in the quiet dark of the BLU bases' gunsmithy. His face was hard, his fists clenched, and across the room was a target practice mannequin, pierced by eight arrows he had loosed. There was a hastily scrawled face on the mannequin, complete with a pair of drawn-on orange shades and a field hat with half the brim flipped up. That damned RED sniper had pissed him off the day before. He knew his aim wasn't the problem, sure they weren't always headshots but at least they made contact here. He was half decent with a mannequin, so what was the problem on the field? Motion? Maybe Dell could construct something for moving target practice. The huntsman drew another arrow, nocked it, and pulled. 

Zip- thwump!

Right into the shoulder of the mannequin. Yeah, he had been aiming for the head, but that was pretty close too. He just wanted to land a goddamn shot on that sniper, acting all high and mighty just because he uses some fancy modern rifle. The spy had mentioned something about being closer. Maybe he could try that. 

As Theo seethed to himself, a pair of muddy boots came squeaking down the entrance ladder. They plodded down the hallway and turned into the barracks. A large duffel bag flopped to the ground, and one of the boots pushed it under a neatly made bed, undecorated except for a little brown stuffed horse, with twinkling beads for eyes and dark brown yarn for a mane. The BLU pyro extended a hand and pet it gently before turning to leave the room. Down the hallway he went, to fetch his melee weapon from his locker. It needed a good sharpening. He pat a snare drumbeat on his thighs as he walked, complicated and rhythmic, but he heard a sound as he passed the gunsmithy. The drumming paused, and he froze in place like a prey animal that had been spotted. He listened. 

Theo grumbled on the other side of the door, almost right up on it. The pyro moved slowly, pressing a hand to the door, then pushing it open just enough to peek through. He watched the sniper draw another arrow, but he stopped and simply held it in his hand. A defeated sigh, and his arm fell limp by his side, arrow still in hand. He turned and glanced at the door.

"Get in 'ere, creaky-boots. I could hear ya from a mile away." 

The pyro perked and raised a hand in a sheepish hello as he pushed fully through the door. Theo watched him with a half-smile.

"Say," he said, holding up his bow. "You any good with one o' these? Seein' that you're all nature-y and resourceful n' all."

The pyro shook his head, bringing a palm up and waving it back over his shoulder: the sign for "was." The sniper gave him a surprised chuckle. 

"Oh, you were? Maybe you can still teach an aussie in need some new tricks, eh?" 

With a chuckling motion, the pyro shook his head and signed again. He pointed a finger off to the side and brushed a fist across the index finger, back and forth, like he was polishing a shoe. The huntsman groaned, shaking the arrow in his hand for emphasis. 

"But I DO practice, matches, I do! Every day I do!" 

He turned to his teammate in exasperation. Dark lenses looked back at him, unreadable, head tilted slightly. There was a beat, and his hands raised again, one flat, palm-up, the other with the fingers bent straight up from the knuckles. It moved in an arc through the air, landing with finger-tips against the palm of the flat hand.

Again. 

The sniper huffed, gesturing towards the poor punctured mannequin. 

"I've practiced enough, don't you think?" 

A stare, and the pyro shook his head. His hands moved once more, repeating the sign. 

Again. 

With a frustrated growl, the huntsman docked the arrow he had been holding, aimed, and loosed. The arrow flew through the smithy in the blink of an eye, and embedded a couple inches into the abdomen of the mannequin, off-center. There was an unsatisfied humph from the sniper. 

"...I was aimin' for the heart." 

He turned to look at the pyro again. Again, his mate stared back, and motioned once more. Again. 

The aussie stared back for a moment, then slowly reached for another arrow.

          The RED sniper adjusted his hat and stepped out of the camper door with a deep inhale of the sweet morning air. It was only starting to heat up, and the dew of the night lingered just long enough for him to breathe it in and sigh it out. The night before had left him in a very calm mood. Having someone to talk to had taken his mind off of the scars, and now he had something to think about besides that. He had even managed to brush his teeth in the morning, though he was still avoidant of the mirror, and he was thinking he might be feeling okay enough to shower in the evening. Even if they hadn't yet talked about the actual events and all, he thought it worth updating the medic. Mundy held a little spark of hope in his chest as he locked the camper, waving at the heavy outside, who had just been pumping out some push-ups. Misha met his eye and nodded in return with a smile. The sniper headed towards the entrance to the base. 

His medic had come slightly early and settled into the gunsmithy to sharpen his tools, leaving his husband to work out above ground before the sun came up all the way. He had soon been joined by Esteban, who brought freshly brewed espresso with him, as if Herbert needed it, really. The two worked through comfortable chitchat, medic sharpening his ubersaw while Dell tinkered with a new dispenser productivity enhancement. Mundy pushed through the door before the coffee had even gone cold. The two had looked up from their work upon hearing the door creak open. Mick put on a polite smile. 

"G'day," as he walked into the room, making sure the door closed. He smelled the coffee on the air, to which the engie chuckled.

"Buenas, Mundy. You want some?" 

The sniper nodded. Dell served him a little shot glass of deep, dark liquid life as the doctor began to speak.

"Good morning, herr sniper," he said cheerily, looking the man up and down. Curious, no weapon. 

"Vhat brings you in, hm?" 

Mick turned to face him, cafecito in hand. 

"Yeah, uh, well it's not much, but I thought I'd update ya." 

He took a sip of the espresso, savoring the bitter, slightly sweetened taste as he eyed the door. Even the sound of tools working had quieted as he spoke and he felt very on-the-spot. He continued, speaking curtly as if to get it over with as quickly as possible. 

"The spy and I met yesterday. We didn't talk about the traumas 'n all just yet, but he's...easy to talk to. I doubt it'll be long before we do." 

He trailed off, avoiding the medic's eye, thus missing the mischievous glint within it. 

"Oh, Mundy," cooed the medic, "zhat's vondaful news! When will you meet him again? Tonight, maybe?" 

The sniper chuckled nervously and finished off the coffee. 

"C'mon doc, we just met the first time yesterday. Can't be houndin' 'im again so soon like that." 

An amused hum from Herbert as he began to polish his saw once more. 

"Vell, if not tonight, then you should definitely meet tomorrow, since it's a day off and all. No need to sneak around after a match."

"I'd considered it. Maybe I'll ask 'im to today during the match. I don't have any plans this time." 

"I think you should," piped the engie's voice. "You're an isolated man outside of work, hermano, I think it'll do you good." 

The sniper met his eye and smiled slightly. The medic beamed inside, only letting a much more subdued smile show outwardly. That glint in his eye, however, remained. 

          When the BLU sniper and pyro finally emerged from the smithy, it was nearly five minutes until transport. Theo stepped from the dimly lit room into the bright, sterile hallway, stretching his right arm and rolling his shoulder. His pyro left right behind him with a hearty good job pat on the back. The huntsman chuckled, much more hopeful now. They walked together, into the lobby where the rest of the team was already waiting. 

They were greeted first by a wave from the engineer, then a smile and nod from the demo he'd been talking to. The scout noticed them next, greeting them from deep in a bent-over hamstring stretch.

"Mornin', pal! What's up, T?" 

The pyro waved happily as the sniper beside him smiled and shook out his shoulder. The scout watched it move.

"Mornin', mate."

"Your arm okay?" 

"Ah, yeah," sighed the hunstman, "went a little hard on practice this morning. Py's one hell of a motivator."

The scout chuckled, standing up from his stretch. 

"He is, idn't he. Look, try this." 

He brought an arm across his chest and pulled it tight with his other arm, stretching out the shoulder. Theo copied the motion and winced in the deep stretch it caused in his achey arm. The pyro perked and offered a different stretch, an overhead motion that stretched the tricep, to which the scout said oooh, that's a good one as he mirrored the action. 

          Transport wasn't long after that. A few minutes and a teleporter blip later, 18 screaming mercenaries had spawned on rainy, gloomy Sawmill. They all rushed the point in their own ways, but most of them ended in bloodshed. The RED heavy and medic duo were countered by the BLU demo and medic, rockets blew up sentries and gouts of flame took out spies, even the saws had their share of kills, from either poor personal decisions or well-timed airblasts. Every now and again, a merc would crumple to the ground, seemingly at random. Every now and again, from a shed near the main building, a precisely aimed rifle round would fly, more often than not taking a head with it. Mundy had set up camp on the ground, for once. Sawmill was an interesting map for a sniper, nothing good up high. He crouched in the shadows of the shed, hunched, pensive. In the back of his mind he wondered when he'd get the chance to meet with the spy, since they likely wouldn't be in close proximity. 

The BLU spy was thinking about the sniper, too. He kept to tight corners and engie nests, far from the wide barn-style doorways of the point building. The night before had done exactly what he'd feared; it had strengthened his feelings for the aussie. It was like a repeat of the first couple days again, feeling flutters in his stomach and a quickening of his heart rate whenever he saw him. Trying to keep away for now was the most effective way to keep working, though he couldn't help but think it closely resembled a little kid hiding behind something to avoid the eye of their crush. Embarrassing.

Off the upstairs platform nearest the RED spawn, disguised as his RED counterpart, he watched and waited. That was the most likely place for the engineer and soldier to show up, and those were his greatest focus right now. He watched as his team gained enough traction to try taking the point. As the Admin announced the point being captured, he had half a mind to jump down and help cap it. But there were quick steps on the platform outside, and he whirled around just in time to see the RED scout approaching from outside. He stepped back, as if allowing the scout to pass. His grip on his dagger tightened. 

"Thanks, pal- eaAUUGH-!"

With a swift lunge, the blade embedded in his back. The spy snickered to himself as he un-disguised and ran down the stairs, watching the body twist and slide down alongside him. 

"Don't mention it." 

He watched a rifle round take out his pyro, who had been trying to take the point. His brow tensed as he ran, focused. A slide at the base, pivot, and he bolted for the point now holding his sniper, heavy, and demo, revolver locked and loaded in his hand. As he slid on to the point and took a ready shooting stance, the demo caught his eye and beamed.

"Lookit ye, out in the open. Good of you tae join us, lad." 

The demo gave him a quick, hearty pat on the back. The spy couldn't help but chuckle back, shooting a couple rounds into an incoming jet-packing RED pyro. The huntsman finished them off with a pumped fist and a hissed yess!

"Only for a moment, my friend," replied the spy. He stood ready on the point, on edge, and felt a little urge to turn. He gritted his teeth and looked away. Despite wanting to avoid the aussie's eye, even though he knew it would set off those damned fireworks, something within him really wanted to look. Certainly not romantic interest, no, he only wanted to be aware of his surroundings, that's it. It just didn't help that the man was kind and thoughtful and heroic and hell, just easy on the eyes. Ugh, merde.

He glanced in the direction of the shot that killed his pyro, and, sure enough, caught a sight of the RED sniper, but the sharpshooter had already been looking at him, down the scope of his rifle. The spys' breath hitched in his throat, and flurry of emotion he felt really made him want to look away, but the sniper quickly dropped the gun and put out his free hand, as if to say wait! Watch me!, and the spy couldn't help but comply. He raised his hand, then bent it at the elbow and motioned backwards towards himself, a "come here" signal. The spy stayed still a moment, then nodded and flashed a thumbs-up as discreetly as he could. Mundy smiled to himself and held up an "ok" handsign, then took up the rifle once more. 

"The BLU have captured the control point!"

In half a second the spy was invisible once again. He slunk back to the corner of the room, watching a bullet whizz through the open door and take out the huntsman. That was sure to leave him in a great mood. Through that same door appeared the RED soldier, and then, from a side door, the RED heavy and medic. The spy gritted his teeth, and with help from his own heavy, took out the soldier before he did too much damage. Satisfied with the kill, he skirted the stairs to reclaim his usual hunting ground, having taken the visage of the soldier. The RED engineer appeared in the upstairs doorway just as the spy reached the balcony floor. A shot, then another rang from the spy's revolver. Dell dropped his toolbox with a string of pained curses and drew his shotgun, but the spy had closed the distance between them, trailing billowing smoke behind him. He bumped the stock of the shotgun as the engineer pulled the trigger, and whizzing pellets of leaden buckshot tore through the ceiling above them. He grunted through the impact of the recoil, but the engineer was thrown off for just a second. It was long enough for the spy to swap his revolver for his dagger. After that, it only took a few deep strikes to down the engineer. The frenchman huffed, brow tense, then turned to face the now very active battlefield. He thought of the sniper. Their meeting would have to wait. 

Theodore respawned. Inhumanly still and wild-eyed, barely even breathing, he stood. His arms were stiff by his side, his right hand grazing the carbine holstered on his thigh. As much as he'd wanted to focus on the bow and arrow, god, as much as he'd practiced that morning, that kiwi motherfucker had killed him just one too many times. He needed some sort of catharsis. Before he knew it, the SMG was unholstered and clutched to his chest as he booked it down the stairs. Fight up close, the spy had said, he was less of a threat up close. Across the field, through a dingy shack of a building, and he stopped, seething, white-knuckling the grip of the gun with one hand and the base of the magazine in the other. Before him was the cave-like opening of a tunnel that would leave him directly outside the sniper's camp. He walked quietly down the earthy path, around the bend, and there was the shack. There was a large doorway, and he could see the barrel of the rifle dipping in and out of view to the left of it. The rage in his chest reached a violent boil. 

A grunt, then a low growl as he bridged the gap. The closer he got, the faster he went, and the faster he went, the louder he got. With a guttural roar of fury, he breached the door and pulled the trigger. The RED sniper had no time to react. Within moments he was thrown back by an onslaught of full auto flying lead that simply didn't stop. Theo pushed forward, roaring still, trigger squeezed so hard it might crack and split in two. Every muscle in his body was tense. Closer and closer, until the RED had been pinned to the wall. Not until the magazine was empty, not until the searing barrel end had singed what was left of Mundy's body did he stop. The gun clicked over and over, drained of ammunition, smoldering in the bloody heap the barrel was buried in. After that, he stood before his handiwork, panting hard, light-headed from the exertion, the adrenaline, the satisfaction. The carbine lay forgotten on the ground, before the man whose torso had been reduced to little more than wet ground beef. 

He didn't have long to take in what had just happened. In truth, he was standing completely still with his back facing the main conflict area of the map. All it took was one well aimed rocket. 

The fighting continued. Mundy respawned, more confused than anything about the sheer depravity he had died to. He thought it might be best to hang back, give the BLU sniper a moment to cool off. Hell, Mick thought to himself, maybe he needs therapy more than I do. He left spawn and set up on the balcony just along the building. It wasn't the best view of the control point, but he had a little window right into it. It would do for now, at least until the timer ran down a little closer.

It was only a mild tug of war this time; the BLU held a very good grasp of the point after their first capture. The BLU spy watched from his perch above. Nearly the entire BLU team was in or around the building, defending the point very well. A little burst of nerves ushered in the thought that it may be a good time to see the sniper. He slunk down the stairs, activating his invisibility as he did. Down past the point, he peeked from the doorway he had first seen the sniper from, ready to make the trek, but there was no sign of him there. He turned back into the building and thought a moment. With all the fighting going on, he couldn't tell if anyone was dying by his bullet. Maybe he could catch him from another door? He must be stationed somewhere that has a view of the point, no? 

Around the perimeter he went, looking first through the door he originally looked through. Nothing. There was a smaller door on the adjacent wall. Invisible still, he crept along the wall and, after dodging a charging RED demoman, he peeked. Sure enough, set up on a balcony across the map, he saw that dumb hat atop the gangly man he was looking for. Another round of firecrackers in his stomach, but he shook them off, focusing on the task at hand. The hard part now would be making it over there unscathed; the sniper had set up directly outside RED spawn. It would be a straight shot, but directly through enemy territory. He watched the fight for a moment.

It was a raucous flurry of limbs and metal. The heavy's rounds tore apart the RED soldier, the BLU sniper shot down an opposing medic, and then his chance presented itself, in the form of his pyro finishing off the RED scout with his modified battle-rake. Quickly he applied the disguise, and then began the act. 

The false RED scout tripped and stumbled from the doorway, nearly tumbling down the stairs from the exit, then caught his balance and limp-sprinted towards the red base, calling desperately for a medic. He moved as quickly as he could, convincingly. Through a little shed, and he'd be halfway to the balcony. He had a better view of it, but...the sniper was gone. He stopped short, just past the shed, and heard running footsteps overhead. 

Putain, the one time he moves! 

As he considered running back into the building, a soot-stained uniform appeared from the RED base, right across from him. He was fully in view of the two dark lenses that faced him. The pyro had run forwards from the base, but hesitated upon seeing the false scout. The BLU spy balked and sank into the shadows behind him, flat against the wall of the building. He knew better than to give chase. He held his dagger at the ready. 

The thudding of heavy boots on damp dirt came closer, fast. The labored breathing behind a mask of rubber and metal intensified. The spy waited, brows drawn low, breath hitched in the dark. With the stomp of a foot that splintered the wood beneath it, the mask shot from the doorway beside him and whipped around to look straight at him. Vast, black glass, an indecipherable rubber face. The spy froze, as if staying still would keep them from seeing him. The pyro stared at him for a moment, adjusted the grip on their flamethrower, and backed away just a little. Then, from within the mask...

"Mm bh ghhd t' hmm." 

And with that, the figure turned away from his scared-stiff enemy, and continued down the path to the point with a little skip in their step. The spy faltered, his arm slowly bringing the dagger down to his side.

"...what the hell..?"

"ONE MINUTE REMAINING!"

The spy startled where he stood, then grimaced at the announcement. Merde, one minute to go. He had one minute to find that sniper. More than that, he had less than a minute actually to get to him. He couldn't waste another second.

With a pivot he sprinted back up the stairs he'd originally come down, going invisible the moment he reached the door. He paused. Sawmill was a difficult map for a long-range sniper like him, there weren't many good vantage points. He's likely at the camp he'd set up before the staying on the balcony. Dodging the main fight, he sped to the first door, and there he was, the predictable bastard. The good thing was there was a good stopping point in the middle of the path between them, so he could pick up some cloak charge. Hell, the spy didn't know if he could take advantage of it, with how tight on time he was. No time to think, no time to plan. He simply booked it. 

Quickly across, with only a brief pause behind some stacked lumber to check for incoming REDs. Another push and he skidded to a halt beside the sniper, invisibility faltering at the last second, but managing to hold. The sniper startled at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, dropping his rifle to go for his machete, but upon seeing the flickering BLU cloak, he relaxed. Not for long, however.

"THIRTY SECONDS TO GO!" 

Mundy winced, eyes wide in slight panic. He turned towards where he'd seen the flicker, reaching out and grasping the unseen wrist of the spy before dragging him into the tunnel nearby. The spy ignored the flutter in his chest and followed him closely. They stopped just before the bend, close in the damp dark. 

"Spy, I wanted to ask 'bout tomorrow, since we're off and all, if you wanted to chat again." 

The frenchman seemed stuck in place. The sniper's hand had loosened and slid down the wrist to hold the spy's, not tightly, but strong in his state of stress. He knew it wasn't anything romantic, probably just a personal response to pressure, but to the spy? It was pure endorphins to the brain. He stood quietly, face flushed, before coughing and clearing his throat to try as reply. Mick watched the empty air before realizing the touch might be making the spy uncomfortable, and pulled his hand all the way back with a nervous inhale. What he didn't see was the spy's still invisible hand reaching out for it, just for a second. The sniper opened his mouth to apologize, but the spy interrupted him. 

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I can- we can do tomorrow. Where? And when?" 

The sniper bit his tongue 

"I mean, I don't really have anything to do, we can meet someplace downtown?" 

"TEN SECONDS LEFT!!"

"Okay, okay, eh..." the spy started, panicked now, "Laundry. I have to do laundry, do you know the dry-cleaner's? Puffy's Laundromat, it's called. We can meet there, go someplace else after?"

Mick nodded. 

"Yeah, yeah I know the place. Gah, I have to do laundry myself. Morning? Maybe like, Ten? Eleven?" 

"THE BLU HAS SUCCESSFULLY DEFENDED THE POINT! THE BLU TEAM WINS THE MATCH!! PREPARE FOR TRANSPORT!"

The two looked up at the unseen announcer. That voice seemed to permeate every inch of the field. The spy looked back towards the sniper.

"Ten tomorrow," the spy nodded, huffing an exhale. 

"Ten tomorrow," said the sniper, stuttering and starting up again. "A-and look, mate, sorry about th-" 

But time was up. The teams spawned back in their lobbies, wet from the sawmill rain, cheering for a win or moping over a loss. The RED sniper and BLU spy reappeared damp and with squinting eyes, unaccustomed to the bright light after having been in a dark cave, both feeling as though something had been missed. The sniper sighed, pretending outwardly that it was only a disappointment in the loss of the match. He joined the RED in putting their weapons up with sighs of we'll get them next time. The BLU spy did something similar, smiling softly to himself, having to pretend it was an effect of having won the match. The BLU demo delivered another pat on the back, and he chuckled a little in reply. In reality, all he could think of was tomorrow. God, he was giddy inside. Like he'd just been asked on a date. 

Tomorrow.