just a reminder that this is my favorite thing on the chan right now and I'm f5ing like an idiot waiting for more.

Thanks so much, everybody! Just got home after a late flight, finally had the chance to get some writing done. (And yay, I have fanart, I feel all lucky and happy)

~~~ch. 19~~~

On Friday night, in the hotel, he puts me to work really learning to be the Banker while he Punts, and I am slightly more miserable at that than I was at just trying to play the game, but neither one of us has to clear out by morning, and there's a little table pulled up between the bed and the single chair.

Under that, his foot slides up my calf and distracts me. His loose, easy slouch is inviting, and his smile. Those eyes are like the hot blue center of a flame, too, unwavering on me except to flick down to his cards when necessary. His hand is languid in its move up to the cigarette dangling from his lip, his fingers dragging over his mouth to pull it away.

"If you don't cut it out, I'm going to jump you."

"Try and control yourself." He chuckles, then blows a smoke ring. "If you can resist me tonight, when I am determinedly working my wiles, then you can resist me tomorrow, when I must pretend that I would not rather be crawling into your lap."

I growl at him, but I stay where I'm at, and when he coughs at me and lifts his eyebrows, I deal out the cards.

At midnight he leaves his chair and comes to sit behind me on the bed. His arms come up around me, but he doesn't strip me, doesn't kiss me. Instead he deals hands and whispers strategies, and I try to pay attention to those instead of to what we might be doing instead.

At one in the AM, I leave the cards aside and push him down, taste him, keep him, claim him. I don't know what time Saturday I expect my team's Spy to show. I'll have enough time to pretend I arrived ahead of him, to pretend at innocence.

"What the hell am I supposed to call you?" I sigh, dropping my head down to his chest.

"Quoi?" His fingers play in my hair, brush gentle over old scratches and bruises.

"Tomorrow. I can't call the both of you 'Spy', that's confusing... Can't call you anything else, that's..." Dangerous, even if I knew what else to call him. Much as I never really find myself minding if he uses pet names with me or not, none ever sprang comfortable from my own lips, but even if they did I couldn't use them in public. Neither one of them has a name, far as anyone else in this war is concerned, neither do I.

I've just gotten used to not calling him anything, except in that secret language of grunts and touches that call him 'mine'. No names at all, no need when it was only the two of us.

"Blue." He offers. "It is what you might both likely call me. After all, I will be the only one present from my team. And you are the only sniper. That makes everything neat."

"Sure." I said, even though I didn't think I could with a straight face. It's what my old man called his dog. The dog, unlike the son, could do no wrong... If he outlived me, for good I mean, it wouldn't cut him half as deep as losing that dog, and he never even gave it a proper name. Well, that's George Mundy for you, anyway.

Didn't mean for thoughts of home to intrude on me here. The hotel was the one place we had that was set apart from the real world that we came from, and the unreal world where we spent the work week, and I try, whenever we're here, not to think about the war or my family, or anything past the sinewy body under mine and that clever tongue.

Contemplation's settled heavy over us both, though. I can tell from the tensing muscle on his jaw he's thinking too, and probably about tomorrow.

"If we can pull this off..." He says.

"Do everything I can." I promise, turning my face to him, licking my lips so they drag wet over his skin when I speak. "Wanna hold onto you. Doesn't matter what gets thrown at us."

"And what will we do, if the war ever ends? You will still hold onto me then?"

There's a queer clenching coldness in my stomach even trying to think of it. "Can't I?"

"Mais oui, absolutement. And I to you, and I to you. Would you follow me to France, if it ends, if I asked you?"

"You asking me?"

"A hypothetical." He waves a hand, airy.

"Dunno. How would it look, two of us living together?"

"Not so strange. Some might guess, but whether they like it or not is their own problem and not ours. But many would not assume, just from that. There are other reasons for two men to share living quarters. And we would not have to be in the city, where your arrangements are the business of so many neighbours. Why? What would it be like if I followed you to Australia? I would..."

"No!" I sit.

"Cher?"

"I mean, we couldn't."

"All right."

"It's illegal."

"That's incredibly stupid, but all right. Not that you would be making a criminal out of me, I'm sure I've broken better laws than that, but all right."

"And the neighbours don't just sniff and turn their noses up at you and cross the street to avoid you if they don't like it."

"Oh, violence." He rolls his eyes and pulls me back down to lie against him. "Not that I am afraid of these hypothetical neighbours, against two men of our skill, but I would be happier anyway to take you home to France, when the war ends."

"If it does."

"I've spoiled your night. I'm sorry, I wouldn't have asked, had I known..."

"Forget it."

"Sleep... Just sleep, mon grand. And if the war never ends, we will never have to worry about where to go, we will just meet each other in secret as we have. And I will always be so hungry to be near you... and I will whisper to you in the darkness where even moonlight does not reach, and I will hold you, and I will love you... So sleep."

Eventually, I do.

beautiful~ incredibly sexy without even having a sex scene :) please do update more~ alsooooo this hotel calls for a sexy shower scene :D

and im glad my fanart made u happy!

...

I love you.

So sweat. God, it's so sweat. I feel like I'm falling in love.

I hope you mean "sweet" because "sweat" is a very different word!

>>92
I meant SWEET! lol It's embarrassing. Thank you for correcting me.

I totally didn't expect an update today, and it was so worth peeking. Jesus your writing style for sniper is amazing!

I love you guys for continuing to brighten my evenings with feedback. And... sexy shower scene? Dohoho... mmmaybe...

(And, um, by 'maybe', I mean, it's almost the first thing that happens in this chapter. So yeah.)

~~~ch. 20~~~

"The hotel manager had my showerhead fixed during the week, if you don't want to bother with the tub." He offers, his foot sliding up my calf again, only this time we're not facing each other across the card table, we're lying in bed together and my hands all over him.

"Uh huh." I say, don't know myself if it's a yes or a no. I'm too tall for the tub, yeah, but too tall for the shower as well.

Still, got to wash the sex off me. Got to run to the bank, withdraw a huge bundle. RED pays me better than any single job I've held before, they pay me to kill every weekday. The jump from assassin to mercenary felt strange to me at first, but normal's relative, isn't it? Now it seems right enough, and having an income and no steady drain on it means I've got enough to blow.

Then I got to pretend I'm only just arriving, when my own team's Spy does. Don't know when he means to show up. We never hashed it out, imagine he'll arrive whenever it was he saw me show up that weekend. When did I set out in the morning, how long had the drive taken?

But it's early now. I can drag myself out of bed and into the bath.

He follows me when I do, sticking close, his chest against my back, his hands sliding up my front as I reach for the taps.

"What are you planning, then?" I reach one arm back to grope at him.

"Mm, you could guess, cher. Perhaps it is for the best, that we are on opposite teams. You could tempt me into too much trouble if we fought on one side. I would be forever trying to molest you in the showers."

"I shower with six other blokes."

"Yes. I don't think it would go over well." He smirks, stepping into the tub with me. There's no wall, if we get carried away, if our knees buckle or weaken, just the curtain rod-- copper, like the tub-- a suspended oval around us, and the flimsy curtain. Nothing two men could catch their weight on.

His hands are good, if not good enough to send us both crashing down to knock our heads on the bathroom fixtures. Good enough to ease out the tension when he kneads at my shoulders, and I mirror the gesture, two of us facing each other. Languid kisses, fumbling wet massages, a shared flannel and soap that smells like milk and lavender and something clean. Arousal, but the easy sort, the sort that can wait.

I have to get out of the tub, to let him get to the showerhead to rinse off, and I keep an eye on him as I towel off. The water sluices down him, makes him even paler in the sparkling clear curtain. As he shuts the water off, I step back into the tub, grab his hips and suck at his shoulder, at the cold, clear, clean taste of the water dripping from his skin, and the scent of the soap just washed away.

He moans, and I let one hand leave his hip, slip forward to seek out his slick wet cock.

"Waiting for me, yeah?" I release his other hip, bring that hand up to tease one nipple. "You want me to bring you off?"

"Yes..." His head rolls back, to rest on my shoulder. "This is always what I want..."

"I ought to leave, you know... I got errands before our game."

"No, no, no... finish this first. You torturer, finish this first." He reaches up, fingers in my hair, twists his neck to try and line his mouth up to mine, there's no good angle to do it, but I bend to oblige him anyway.

I plant my feet firm as I can, even knowing it's dangerous territory to try and do it in. I grip him sure and let him sag against me and try to take his weight.

"So much for getting clean." I chuckle, twisting my hand just so and thumbing right there, the little touches he likes, the things that get him off faster.

"Mmm, I will have time to get clean again... while you run your errands..."

His arse is tight and firm and pressing back against me, makes it hard to focus on keeping us upright. Hard to focus on anything that isn't thrusting up against him, water dripping down his back cutting the friction down, easing the slide of skin on skin. I can feel the tensing and flexing of too many muscles, know too well how he feels and looks under too many gorgeous circumstances.

I bring him off fast, before I can let go of my own self-control. He steps out of the tub on shaky legs, kneels on the bathmat before beckoning to me.

He smiles coyly up at me and pretends he meant only to dry my feet again, when I step out and stand before him, but the pretense doesn't last long. He gives head with abandon, with hunger. No matter how many times, it always takes me by surprise. No matter how many times, he always will... I can't imagine growing inured to that kind of whirlwind passion.

Afterward, another quick pass with the damp flannel, a hasty straightening of hair as I dress, and his liberal swig of mouthwash. Afterward, he goes to a safe under the bed, that I hadn't even known about, and draws out one of several bundles of bills.

"Consider this my contribution. The playing out of this scheme is in my best interest as much as yours, and you will lose more money than I will-- especially since I intend to wager blackmail photographs on at least one hand. Strategy, cher, not charity, and you will still need to put up your own money, a lot of it. But... this should soften the blow."

"I don't..." I hesitate. He's got a point, calling it strategy and not charity. He's right, sure, but it still feels...

"I'll see if I can't recoup the loss from your teammate's pocketbook. Then we can consider it squared?"

"Strategy." I repeat, tucking it into the hidden pocket on the inside of my vest. Maybe if I repeat it enough, I'll even believe it. He does-- knows better than to offer charity, and besides, it's not in his nature. Even his softest side. There's room in him for some kindness, but not for charity.

Strategy, then. It'd be disastrous for my teammate to know it, but the two of us are playing from the same shared pocket. The money, the blackmail, the whole bloody plan, it's the two of us against him and trying desperate to make it look like every man's an island.

When I return from the bank, with my pockets heavier, our Spy's reached the hotel room before me. There's surprise in the measuring look he casts over me. He expected to find us there together, maybe suspected to find us half-dressed or at least suspiciously mussed.

"Found the place, I see." I tip my hat to him.

"Counted the windows, from where I saw you before." He admits. "I did not think I would beat you here."

I just shrug and rap on the door. Nothing creative, as secret knocks go, but there's a peephole, so it's not like it ever had to be.

"Gentlemen." My Spy opens the door with a flourish. He's had another two chairs sent up since I left earlier, and a bottle of wine, glasses. "Shall we?"

From here on out, what happens... well, it happens. Full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes, then. Nothing to do but play.

"Gentlemen?"


:D

Eeek! Anticipation. @_@

wow, thanks a million for the shower scene bro! i cant even begin to imagine how this next part is going to play out, Je suis tres excite!

I can't imagine growing inured to that kind of whirlwind passion.
whirlwind passion.
God, I love that phrase. It's so surreal sounding. I stopped for a moment and was like "Shit man, that's an amazing way to describe it."

whooo another chapter! awesome!

I'm continuously amazed by how quickly (not to mention how WELL) you write. If you're on some kind of crazy-ass illegal steroids that stimulate your writing muscles, whatever, just keep taking 'em.

How the hell did I ever miss this?
Honestly, this has been up and I've passed it over and ignored it and I cannot, for the LIFE of me, figure out WHY.
Not only is the first person brilliantly executed, you keep the characters and the time frame in focus at all times, capturing the homophobia and the difference in culture so beautifully I can't help crow in glee.
This is what writing IS, what writing is SUPPOSED to be.
I am in awe, and I am so happy.

As always, thanks s'much for all the continued support. (and re: characters/time frame/cultural differences/homophobia, yeah, one of the things I find very interesting in exploring this pairing, is the fact that in France, homosexuality was decriminalized back in the days of Napoleon (largely because it was easier to make it legal for soldiers to bugger each other than it was to have to shoot your own men, I think), whereas in Australia, it will continue to be illegal for about twenty years after the time frame, and I like the very different attitudes that kind of thing would give the two men...)

~~~ch. 21~~~

"Cigarette?" He flips open the case, the one with all the masks, and the cigarettes he never smokes. "You're a Gauloises man?"

"I prefer the low tar. I have my own."

"Of course." My Spy smirks and digs his own smokes out of a suit pocket. "I prefer Sobranie myself. I suppose I keep buying the Gauloises also out of a sense of patriotism..."

I shrug and dig out my own pack as well. Brand loyalty has never been a driving factor for me. I buy Benson & Hedges when I'm in the money-- and they're easy enough to find overseas-- and when I'm not in the money I pick up whatever's cheap and available. Course, before I had a war to worry about, back when my hours were filled with more tedium than work, I'd roll my own. Hell, I'd smoke the awful strong French ones he buys and doesn't care for, except the fewer little intimacies between us right now the better.

He pours out three glasses of wine before he starts shuffling and dealing, but none of us much drink yet. I plan on staying sober as I can, I'm not nearly good enough at this game to play drunk. But I can pick up the glass now and then, swirl it around, sniff at it. Pretend to drink.

I lose a fair bit in the first few hands, before we change bankers. That's fine. I knew I'd be losing a fair bit, I'd allowed for that. And I never needed much money to live on, need even less now that the base takes care of most my needs during the weeks.

Still, watching my Spy drink puts my teammate at ease, and they keep pace with each other through the first glass. Through the second, in the afternoon.

He whistles, to himself mostly, as he deals out another hand, the banker again, and I'm surprised when our Spy sings along to the little tune, when they join in a chorus together like old friends.

"Elle est tellement jolie, elle est tellement tout ca, elle est toute ma vie, Madeleine, que j'attends la!"

"If you're drunk enough to start a sing-along, I might just be able to turn my luck around."

"Dream on, bushman." My Spy smirks at me, tops off my glass. "And drink up."

"You don't need to get him drunk to take advantage of him." My teammate snorted, and that moment of fear gripped me, squeezing on my lungs. Somehow we'd failed, somehow he knows. "He is hemorrhaging money."

Relief flooded into the tight emptiness in my chest. Gambling. Taking advantage of me at the table, where we're gambling. It's okay, it's okay, for now it's okay.

The role of banker passes to me again, and my Spy looks across the table at his opposite number, gaze calculating. "So. Tell me, when you are not working, have you any hobbies?"

"Hobbies? Ordinary things, I suppose. Why? Yourself?"

"Oh, you know." He affects a very casual lean, then draws the envelope out in place of a wad of cash. "I enjoy amateur photography."

"Fils de pute!"

"I'll tell our Scout you mentioned him."

"You bastard, you swine!" He leans across the table, face red-- or at least, as much of his face as showed-- and I grab his arm.

"Hey now. You wanna get us booted out of this hotel? Let's try not to kill anybody, c'mon."

"The photographs are all there-- barring the one you took away with you. I was surprised you did not recover the rest, but it would hardly have mattered. You'll find duplicates. I thought it would make the game more interesting, to wager these. How much would they be worth to you? A thousand?"

"Yes, fine, a thousand." He throws the bills down, hands shaking. "It does not matter, I am not going to lose. They are all there?"

"You may inspect them, if you wish," My Spy shrugs.

He does, hunched over them, throwing suspicious glances at me.

I raise my hands. "Hey, mate, I'm not interested in any pictures of your scrawny, hairy arse, no matter how pretty the sheila in 'em is."

"Bien sur." He tucks them all back into the envelope. "All there is?"

"All there is."

He swallows, licks his lips, struggles for calm. "The negatives?"

"No. Not this time." My own Spy smiles like a shark. "I enjoy being behind the camera, much more than I enjoy playing the model. If you want the chance to win the negatives, you must come back next week to wager your own work. After all, I would hate for those pictures to somehow work their way back to my employers. I understand how it would give some the... wrong idea, you understand?"

"I understand." His hands tightened, leather creaking in angry fists.

"Good. Then next week will be interesting as well."

I deal.

It's a foregone conclusion, even if my teammate doesn't know it. It doesn't matter how good the cards are, my Spy will throw the hand if he has to. It can look like a bit of poor luck, or a failed gambit, but at this point we want to get those pictures into their subject's hands. Dangle the negatives. And me, I'll just play my part as the disinterested dealer until my own photos hit the table next week.

When dusk falls, enough money's changed hands, as well as the envelope full of photographs, and the three of us rise.

I leave when RED's Spy does-- I have to, or face that knowing look, but when we part company outside the hotel, I find a strange weight in my pocket, an old watch and a torn scrap of blue stationery.

'You'll only have nine seconds, but sometimes nine seconds is a lifetime, n'est pas? Get back to me'

Weird, borrowing the cloaking device, but I switch it on from behind my van, and nine seconds gets me from there to the safety of the hotel without attracting any notice, my teammate still walking off in the opposite direction.

"How'd you get into my pocket?" I ask, when he opens the door to me.

"I am very good at getting into your pockets." He grins, drawing me inside and handing me my still-half-full glass.

"Here's your watch."

"Hang onto it. The new one is better, and you may need it next weekend. Next weekend, he will bring the photos... After that, we could be free."

"Don't talk about that now." I pull him close, kiss him. Don't know if it's some silly superstition that makes me feel like talking about it will jinx us, or maybe I just can't think that far ahead, I always did prefer living in the moment. Or maybe... maybe it's just better not to talk about anything now, when we're finally alone, with a half-glass of wine and a fresh-made hotel bed...

Yeah. Yeah, best not to talk at all...

I kept coming back. Hoping, thinking, waiting. Sweet jesus do you deliver.

I'll never talk again, ohhh Anne, you've left me speechless! YOU'VE LEFT ME SPEECHLESS! SO SPEECHLESS!

im always so excited when i see you update. the spy slipping the cloaking watch was just perfect as well. it was all: disapoint... HELL YEAH.

Bonus chapter before I try to sleep.

~~~Ch. 22~~~

"Want you," I murmur, mouth dragging along his face, his stubble rough under my lips. The scrutiny and the danger's over for now, but the nerves are still there and I've got to do something with 'em or go crazy. And I do, I do... I want...

"Mm, cher?" He pushes my shirt off my shoulders. "Want me to what?"

"That time... that time with the, uh... The time I-- With the Vaseline and, you... and I..."

"Fucked me?" He smiles.

"Yeah." I can feel myself blushing, and I hate myself for it just a little. "That. Did you... did you like that?"

"I am not in the habit of asking for things I do not like." He lies back, smirks up at me. "I enjoy it, but not often. Still, even if the need does not take me, I could find it enjoyable, as long as I have a sexy partner who is keen to..."

"No, I... I wanted to try it. I mean, try-- I mean..."

"This idea of 'fairness' you seem to have?" He rolls his eyes.

"Well, I was tense then. Things are a bit different now." I cross my arms over my chest.

"Don't get defensive." He rises, grabs my wineglass. "Drink. Then I will... relax you. Then we can see how you enjoy it."

I drink. Who am I to argue with the voice of experience, yeah? And it's good wine, for Teufort. He pours me another glass, the last of the bottle, and I drink that as well, even if it is a little difficult to drink while someone's working a hand down your trousers.

Not like I'd tell him to stop. Rather like getting drunk and felt up all at once. Starting to feel a little over-warm, but relaxing at least doesn't sound like a foreign country anymore. We kiss, we kiss a lot, with his hands getting real familiar and our clothes getting real gone.

"Trust me," He whispers, before sliding down my body. And I do, I do, so much it ought to scare the hell out of me, so much it's not even scary anymore, I trust him.

The frantic pace and desperation's gone, and he moans soft around my hard cock and strokes my thighs as he sucks in long, slow pulls, and there's a moment where I forget what I wanted in the first place 'cause he waits 'til I'm coming before his fingers even get close, and by then the whole world's fuzzy.

The intrusion, when it starts, is... It's still strange, but with everything else about me looser, I don't fight it so hard, and at least that first slick finger's not enough to hurt.

"Good, good..." He practically croons each whispered word, I can feel them passing over the skin on my belly, warm breath. "Beautiful. Look at you, spread out for me this way. You must believe I will be good to you... I will, cher, I will. When you are being mine, I will make everything good, yes? Touch you, the way no other man has touched you. They do not know what they are missing... how perfect your body is. I could live on you, I want to breathe only you... My whole world is you."

I nod, and when he rolls me onto my side, repositions my leg, I go along easy to all of it, let him shove pillows around 'til we can both get comfortable, and then...

It does hurt, just for a second, 'til I tell myself to keep breathing and I feel his arm around my waist and his lips up the back of my neck. After that... there are moments so good it's electrifying, and moments so awkward I don't know how the good ones are even possible, and moments that, even though they don't hurt, let me know I could easily be sore in the morning, if we kept up enough of a pace. And the strange fullness leaves me feeling dizzy and nauseous when the whole thing's over, but I don't regret it either.

I mean, start regretting one thing and then you've got to regret it all, and I don't. I don't regret giving something new with him a try, certainly don't regret getting a blowjob or getting a pleasant buzz. Don't regret the wet and slippery drip down my thigh that comes with his final groan of pleasure and I can't regret the kisses and the pillow talk.

"Cher?" He wipes his fingers on the edge of the bedsheet and reaches for his cigarettes. "Ca va?"

"Dunno." As weird as having him in me was, as much as I can't say as it's my kind of thing, the emptiness that follows is... unsettling, I guess, in its own way. There's a wistfulness that usually doesn't come 'til we have to part, or sooner to it, and we have a whole day yet.

"If you do not enjoy it, we will not do it again." He shrugs.

I mirror the gesture. "Guess I wouldn't do it often. Except..."

Except if he could just set off that electric feeling, just with the first finger, just during blowjobs sometimes, and without the fucking to come after... Just enough to hit that spot right as I come, that part was fantastic.

"Mm?" He strokes my chest.

"Nah, it's nothing." Nothing I could say without dying of mortification.

"If you like."

"It wasn't bad or nothing." I assure him. "I-- I l-- I wasn't-- You were-- Maybe it's just not for me."

"D'accord. As I said before, it is not for everyone. It is not for me all of the time. This way is not my favourite, either."

"What is your favourite?"

He strokes his chin and looks up at the ceiling. "I don't know. I used to think I had some idea, but perhaps I do not. I think I just like to make love. And it is best if you also enjoy yourself."

"Well, I like enjoying myself." I snort.

"I like enjoying you. I will write poems to your cock..." He yawns. "Tomorrow. Remind me tomorrow. Sonnets. Whole epics, with adventure and romance and... cocksucking. La Petite Morte D'Arthur. It will be a classic in the literary genre of how much I like your cock. But right now, I am going to fall asleep."

"I think that's a sound idea." I kiss him and tug the blankets up around us. I don't expect either of us to remember the idea come morning. I expect us to write all our poems by touch.

aaahhhh sweet baby jesus this was so fucking hot!

and on top of that, it's got these incredibly realistic moments. I really like the realistic slant on the sex -- a lot of writers take it for granted that "sure, this guy likes stuff up his butt all the time, and the other guy likes putting stuff up butts all the time; insert tab A into slot B, lather rinse repeat," and although that stuff isn't necessarily badly written all the time, it's much less human than stuff like this.

uhhh tl;dr: YES MORE PLEASE AND THANK YOU

oh yeah you just made my day. got to love you.

tres bon aussi. you never fail to deliver. also as stated above, very real and well writen.

Spy needs to hurry up and find Sniper's prostate.

~~~Ch. 23~~~

We avoid each other, the first couple days of the week-- took too many risks during the last-- but the wait feels calmer. Not just sneaking out nights, we don't seek each other out-- or at least, he doesn't come to me-- during battles. Monday's a hectic crapshoot anyway and Tuesday's a rout, even those meetings, a few words and a quick death, even that's too much to ask.

Tuesday's about as bad a day as RED's had in a while, even worse than the chain reaction of failure I set off the day I vomited in the middle of a battle. In the mess hall, dinner's a tense affair, with Solly shouting everyone down about how rotten we did, Pyro huddling in the corner like he's waiting to be dismissed so he can go eat in peace someplace else. Truckie puts up with it, and Scout's confrontational, and Heavy's usually pretty calm when we're sitting through another one of our Soldier's tirades, but today he's on the verge of shouting back, Doc's warning look and hand on his arm holding him in check maybe.

Our Spy's buggered off early on in the high-volume lecture, agitated, but he hasn't been quite right since the photos of him and his gal hit the table on Saturday, and Demo's gone off as well, drunker sooner than I've seen him in yonks before he did disappear. And when it becomes clear Solly isn't shutting up, I make myself scarce as well.

I find Demo up on the battlements, bottle in one hand, his eye bleary and half-focused on the BLU base across from us.

"Ye wan' a drink?" He slurred, offering the bottle in what might generously be called my direction. Judging by the sloshing sound, it's three quarters gone.

"I'm good." I sit down next to him, look out at the BLU base as well. If my thoughts about one of the men inside it are a little bit wistful, they're a little bit happy as well. "Hey, tomorrow can only get better, yeah?"

"Och. It can hardly get worse."

"Too right, mate. But, that's life."

"My fault we lost that last round..."

"Last I checked there were nine of us on this team. I missed an easy shot on that damn Medic, and wasted my time trying to line one up on their Scout, he bloody never sits still. Ours didn't do such a bang-up job today either. And Soldier may run his mouth about how useless the rest of us are, but he broke his own legs about five times out there and he kept getting in the way of me doing my job, plus he tripped over the Pyro and knocked three of his own teammates off the stairs, so..."

"Aye, well. You know I'd like to knock his teeth in some days."

"Well, we all would." I shrug. "Everybody wants to knock everybody's teeth in some days. That's just part of being a team."

"Nae, 's not why. He's too much like him, and not enough like. And maybe none of what happened wouldae if I'd just been friends with him, but we never were and then I met... Sorry, forget it. I'm drunk."

"You're always drunk."

"Aye. Nae. Some of the time. Maybe the rest of ye're always too sober. Didjever think of that?"

"Frequently."

He laughs at that, goes maudlin again. "I miss him."

"Talk to him, then. Make up. Get drunk together, throw a few punches at each other, throw a few punches at somebody else." It was the only formula I knew for repairing friendships, but it was the only one I'd ever needed.

Well, I'd never needed it. I'd never lost a friend I needed. But I'd seen the basics work for plenty of other blokes. Friends fight, then friends drink, then friends either do or do not black out, and once the hangover's worn off, no harm done. Granted, normally friends don't blow each other up over footwear, but it's like getting into a brawl over a girl you both like.

Sort of.

Maybe.

"'S no good. Even if we did, it'd only all happen again."

"So no one has to know." I say, suffering through a sharp stab of empathy, and the more alien desire to fix someone else's problem. "Look, you got caught because you kept going out and getting photographed or arrested together-- as friends."

"Well, it's hard not to get caught up in things."

"You blew a diner up, for Pete's sake!"

"Aye." His head drooped forward. "It was Jane's idea. They wouldn't seat us at the same table."

"If you work it out with him, just... try and let your better angels guide you, that's all I can say. Keep blowing each other to smithereens during the week. And then if you happen to run into each other on the weekend, and you happen to be in the same place, if nobody calls the police on the two of you, who's got to be the wiser?"

"I can't tell..." He says, rolling his tongue around in his mouth a moment and blinking slowly. "If that is a very good plan, or if I'm very... very... drunk."

"Well past drunk." I agree. "It's a good enough plan."

We don't turn our luck around completely on Wednesday, but we come out on top Thursday. And I'm able to take my Spy out with a headshot, while he's disguising himself as me. It's a surreal experience, shooting yourself in the head, then watching yourself turn into your lover, then watching the body disappear.

I shouldn't keep watching the body, after it's over. It's just a poor bit of planning in general. I especially shouldn't, when it's him and he's headless. It's stomach-turning, but I can't help myself.

Besides, the first time we met, I mean properly, he didn't have a body. There's something in that which feels significant, even if I know better.

Friday's hit and miss, but we do well. Well enough that I'm not escaping another angry Soldier lecture when I hit the road, and Demo's in high spirits again.

I get to the hotel well before dusk, but it's the wrong Spy I run into outside the room.

Holy shit!

Well done. You actually made me grip the screen of my laptop in suspense. Well done indeed.

FUUUUUU

Holy cow!

Oh goddamnit, I hate cliffhangers. Especially when it's a story I like so much.

Just play it cool sniper. Play it cool.

oh snap. you have my attention mon ami.

Thanks again, all you lovely commenters. Here, have some relief from the cliffhanging;

~~~ch. 24~~~

His expression's cool and somber, and not at all surprised to see me, and after a moment, he gives me a curious smirk that seems somehow more disingenuous than usual.

"Fancy seeing you here, mon ami." He touches the brim of an imaginary hat.

"No kidding." I take a step closer to the door, and to him. "So what brings you 'round here?"

"I came to speak to your little friend." A spark of humour twists the smirk, and my blood runs cold at that, because he never had a sense of humour that wasn't nasty and mean, so I put myself in front of the door.

"Get through me first," I don't bother going for a weapon, don't think they'd hurt him, not since they fixed friendly fire, but I'll punch or kick or wrestle or fucking bite him if that's what it takes.

He laughs. "Precious, but unnecessary, Sniper. I am bringing by the photographs, in exchange for the negatives of ma belle amoureuse."

I sag against the doorframe, the immediate threat replaced by a new creeping kind, the opening I made.

The door opens behind me, and it's the frame under my hands that keeps me from falling arse over teakettle onto my Spy.

"I thought I heard an argument...? Ah. Perhaps you gentlemen had best both come in,"

RED's Spy pushes past me with another cutting smirk, maybe slightly friendlier, and I follow them both in, to where one of the chairs from last weekend has been removed. Still, there are two, and my Spy motions us to take them and sits on the edge of the bed, back straight, hands on his thighs, perfect attention.

"Now. What is this about? Have we decided to move up the date of the game? Surely someone might have informed me, after all, we are neighbors..."

"I cannot speak for my associate, but I came for my negatives."

"My price?"

An envelope comes out. My Spy goes through, takes out the few photos and the negatives.

"Bien." He nods, businesslike, reaches under the bed and fiddles with the safe without looking at it, comes back up with his own packet. "You have kept no copies?"

"No. No... I-- do not want them. They seem... comparatively poor leverage. And you?"

"No, though I cannot speak for my team-- Some of the photographs left my possession. It is possible the boy destroyed them, though."

"Ah. Yes. The boy." He shifts a little, uncomfortable in his seat.

"Well. If you do not mind waiting, I was not expecting you until tomorrow. I have not put anything up, but I can easily obtain another bottle of wine, if you care to drink on our... little truce?"

RED's Spy shrugs. "I will wait. I'm sure that my compatriot and I have much to discuss, while you run your errand."

My stomach turns, but I just nod.

Once my own Spy's had time to get down the hall, I can't stand the stretch of silence anymore, or the way he watches me like a snake watches a rabbit.

"Forgive me for asking, but why the change of plans?"

"The direct exchange, you mean, instead of a wager? Perhaps because in a game, there is the chance that I might lose, and come away with neither negatives nor my own photographs. Or perhaps it is not about baccarat-- if anything can be said to be not about baccarat. Perhaps it is because you gave some sound advice to a heartbroken drunkard. Perhaps it is because there is a woman I would marry only I have murdered her baby boy too many times to think there is a happy ending for me after this war. Whether he is your friend or your lover, I don't care anymore. If I made him squirm for a time, then that is enough revenge for me... Besides, I can always slit his throat again on Monday."

"You're not serious."

"About slitting his throat? You have done it yourself, haven't you?" He lights a cigarette, calm-as-you-please.

"No, I-- You're just letting it go? Because... what, because you overheard me and the Demo talking?"

"Yes. You sounded too honest. That was when I was sure, that you were not just playing baccarat-- besides, you are terrible at it."

"Thanks, mate."

"Don't confuse this for... for softness." He sneers out the word. "It is a single instance of kindness no doubt misplaced. I have absolutely no love for him, far from it, and I barely tolerate you, because you are good at your job, even if you are a filthy hobo. But... The quality of mercy is not strained. This once, you have a reprieve. Do not waste it, because if I had a reason to believe you were truly a security risk, I would destroy you, like that."

"Gotcha."

"I would enjoy it."

"No, no, I get it."

He sighs, droops forward. "But I love her... when the war is over, instead of sweeping her into my arms and taking her off to Paris, instead of marrying and honeymooning and showing her the life she should have... Her son will come home. And he will tell her what a bad, bad man I really am. And she will not love me. And they expect me to betray her-- oh, yes, our superiors know! If she actually knew anything about this war her son fights, I would be expected to steal that knowledge, or I would be terminated. So. Because I am a plaything of love's whims myself, I grant you a tiny freedom."

"Appreciate it." I say, awkwardness creeping across the skin of my forearms like ants marching.

"I could change my mind tomorrow." Another sigh. "But of course, by then I will not have the evidence. Pray I never obtain more, I suppose. And convey my apologies to our host. I will not be intruding on any more of your time."

He rises, gives a stiff, formal bow and slips out.

When my Spy returns, he looks around the room in a paranoid frenzy before I can tell him we're alone.

"He's gone." I put my hands on his shoulders.

He lowers the bottle of wine he's been brandishing like a weapon. "He's gone?"

"He doesn't plan on coming back. Although we should get new blinds put up in here, 'cause he didn't promise he wouldn't. But he doesn't plan to."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"It's not really forgiveness... just... As long as I'm a team player, he's got no reason to rat on me. That's all."

"I see." He says, though he says it like he's unsure. "Well. You'll have a glass of wine with me?"

"Any old time you like." I go to the bed, flop back and settle down. "No place else I got to be tonight."

You know, with every chapter I just love you more.

I wish I were BLU Scout's mother. Lucky woman, indeed.

Came rushing to read the moment I woke up. You never let me down, do you...

Oh holy fuck RED Spy just broke my blackened little heart.

Please excuse me while I go sob in the corner like the baby I so obviously am.

awe even the red spy has a heart~ i do enjoy both of these pairings, sad as red spy has it and all. i wouldnt mind even digging a little deeper into the red spyXscouts mom before this lovely fic is through. of course that'd be up to the writer, and im sure ill love it either with or without.

Hm... This particular fic is nearing its inevitable conclusion, but sometime I kind of do want to write more about Red Spy/Scout Ma... I like them quite a bit, too.

Anyway, final chapter on this one, and then... not sure what I'll do next...

~~~Ch. 25- Epilogue~~~

"Are these venomous?"

"Are what venom--AIEE! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE BRINGING INTO MY HOUSE?!"

"Our house." I correct him, holding the snake up. "And I'm asking you. I am not an expert on the wildlife of France."

"Why," He calms himself, with no small amount of effort. "The hell, would you bring that thing inside?"

"Well..." I heft the kukri in the hand not occupied with a snake. "I wouldn't want to kill him if he was harmless. But I wouldn't want to run into him later if he wasn't."

"That is an asp viper. They are venomous. Don't pick snakes up."

"I got his head, he can't bite me."

"And take it outside BEFORE you chop the head off!" He calls after me.

"Yeah, yeah."

I go out through the kitchen door into the back garden before dispatching of the snake that had been making its home under our gas meter.

Retirement suits me a little better than I'd feared. We kept going a few good years at that war, but as much good as respawn and the medigun do a man, they're only good for injuries. Might slow down aging some, I don't know, but they don't stop you getting older. They don't stop you getting nearsighted. That was a blow. Still, had all that money I never much needed back when I was in the thick of it, and the retirement package RED offers isn't a bad one.

Not everyone takes it... Solly wouldn't, he said they could just take him out of the respawn system when they thought he wasn't doing his job, and he'd go out the way a fighting man ought to. Fine for him, and whether or not they did, he was still alive when I left.

Scout's still fighting, far as I know. He joined up young, and maybe he's not as fast as he used to be now, but he'll be stronger than he used to be, more accurate. It's a fair trade in my estimation.

Demo's still on RED's payroll-- he's been replaced on the team, but he still makes explosives, and lets someone else run about setting 'em off.

I couldn't tell you if our Pyro's the same man or not. Hell, I couldn't really tell you if our Pyro was a man to begin with. Could be anyone in that suit. Could be I worked with several as it is. Truckie was still working when I left, but he'd said he didn't think he would be for long.

Doc and the Heavy both retired when I did. At least, retired from field work. Think Heavy still does some work, custom weapons and whatnot. Like Demo, hands 'em off to some fresh face once they're built, but he knows his way around guns, no reason they shouldn't keep him on.

RED's Spy got out of the game-- or at least out of the war. I don't know what happened with him, but I know his intent had been to make his peace with BLU's Scout enough so's he could ask for the boy's mum's hand in marriage.

I don't keep up with the ins and outs of the rest of the BLU team, but it's more from lack of interest than lack of opportunity, since my own Spy's still kept on in an advisory position. No more running around stabbing blokes, but times he jets off for meetings and comes home a few days later with a smug and tired look, sleeps off the lag in our bed and eats whatever I bring him and then drags me down for a tumble once he's awake enough.

Retirement's worth getting used to, anyway, as long as most of the time I've got him. I like the countryside-- guess I've had enough desert to last me a lifetime, I can enjoy the grassy hills and the wildflowers and the gentle rains that sweep past us in springtime. Don't much like going nearsighted, but I guess I can live with it, if only because every time I need my glasses to read the paper, he comes up behind me to lean over my shoulder and tell me I look distinguished.

I don't think it's true, mind, but it's still nice.

Anyway, might miss sniping, but taking care of a house offers something. The odd chance of killing a poisonous snake, that's something to brighten the days, that makes a place feel like home.

"Don't nail it up on the barn." He tells me, as I come back in through the kitchen.

"I didn't, I tossed it off in the long grass. Something'll eat it."

"Do you know what tomorrow is?"

I groan. "You've got to fly back to New Mexico for another damn intelligence meeting?"

"No-- and good news, they've put in an intercontinental teleporter at the airport. Of course BLU has a large-scale teleport system, so it will be easy. No more flying. But, I have nowhere to be. We'll have been together eight years, that's all."

"Oh. Happy anniversary, then. What am I supposed to buy you after eight years?"

"Damned if I know. I just thought I'd ask if you wanted to go out or stay in. We can go into the city. A nice restaurant, a much better hotel than the one in Teufort where we used to spend our weekends. Also, you are to call your mother."

My heart about stops. "When'd you talk to my mum?"

"When she called. Don't look at me like that, cher, I don't know who it is until I pick up the phone. Am I supposed to be afraid to answer my own telephone, in my own house?"

"Our house. I paid for half of it."

"Regardless, I live here. I paid the other half. I answer the telephone. She thinks I am your housekeeper. I said you were communing with nature."

I laugh and tug him into my arms. "Communing with nature?"

"She said that sounded like you."

"So... if you're my housekeeper, does that mean I get to see you in one of them frilly aprons?"

"You're a sick man." He sighs. "Tomorrow, we're going into the city. You will wear a tie and a jacket and take me to a very fancy restaurant, and then, after, in the expensive hotel room I shall arrange for us, I will wear nothing but a frilly apron if that is what you want."

I kiss his cheek. "Only if you've already got one. What time's it?"

"It isn't noon yet."

I squint at the clock on the wall past him. Looks like half an hour to, not that I'm certain at this distance. Still, if it's half an hour left 'til twelve, it won't be quite seven at night, still early enough to phone mum.

Maybe she knows what the eighth year anniversary gift's supposed to be...

I'm sad to see this end, I've loved it so much. As sad as I am, the ending was excellent, and I hope we get to see more from you soon!

oh man, im sad to see it end but im glad too. if there is a second part cant wait to see it! also, i like the idea of you doing a second part of red spy and scouts ma, like if it was a mini version going on while this was happening.

Love(10000)

Please, write epilogue about what happened red spy!

I know everyone wants to see what happened to redspy, but am I the only one who wants to see bluspy in a frilly apron? Possibly as a bonus chapter?

I know everyone wants to see what happened to redspy, but am I the only one who wants to see bluspy in a frilly apron? Possibly as a bonus chapter?

Agh, sorry about the doublepost guys. The captcha glitched.

The ending made me smile. Adorable. Will we get a sidestory with Red Spy and Mama Scout?

so sad to see a fic end but it was a nice clean happy ending, thanks for the awesome fic id love to read more fanfics if you decide to continue writing new ones. perhaps something with medic?

this was so lovely. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR WRITING AND SHARING THIS WORK!

I love the ending, adorable and beautiful...but I feel sad and hollow. Maybe I love this fic a little too much. Thank you for writing.

It ended
...doubletake WHAT
what what what what
Sad to see this go. Mercy is one of the best fics on the board...Thank you so much for this amazing fic, Anne. 'Scuse me while I go reread this five billion times

I'm sad that this series is done now, but at the same time? this was an extremely satisfying story. One of the most satisfying TF2 stories I've read yet.

Thanks so much for sharing this with the community. I'm so looking forward to what you'll have to share with us in the future!

The best fanfic I've ever read. Thank you for showing it to us.