~~~Ch. 15~~~

The Spy returns before the food arrives, bearing two hangers with garment bags stamped with the hotel logo.

"Go ahead and get cleaned up. It should fit you just fine." He presses one of the bags on the Sniper.

Inside the garment bag there's a nice suit-- maybe not any nicer than the one they stole from the accountant, and probably not so nice as the one the Spy was used to wearing, but as far as the Sniper knows, it's a good sight fancier than what he always wore. Still, it would have to take him a long ways, and the room had a bathrobe hanging in the closet, and as long as he wasn't leaving the room, it'd do. He puts the new suit in the closet and takes the robe into the bath.

As good as the shower feels, he doesn't take his time with it. After all, stopping at the Y before the plane meant he didn't have layers of ground in filth to worry about. A quick freshening up and he's fine.

"Room service come up yet?" He asks the Spy, stepping out of the bathroom.

"Not yet. What did you order, anyway?"

"Got no idea. Shower's yours."

"Thank you." He stands, grabbing for his own garment bag. "And don't laugh."

That sounds promising. Sniper smiles and settles down to wait. This time, at least, he doesn't have long. The mustachioed bellboy wheels a cart in, then recognizes the Sniper as the man from before who had no means of tipping. He leaves without a word.

The Spy does take a little time luxuriating, and after a while, the Sniper bangs on the door.

"If you want to eat, food's here. I'll start without you, you don't hurry." He warns. Once the words are out, he regrets them. He could have just started eating, there was never really any agreement that he would wait. Food was a necessity, it wasn't a dinner date.

He hears the water shut off, and in a moment, the Spy's voice comes through the door. "Don't laugh."

"Fine, fine." Sniper calls.

The door swings open.

"Are you wearing... Are those... paisley?"

"You said you wouldn't laugh."

"I'm not laughing." Sniper says. It's technically true, but there is a clear temptation. The Spy's shirt is lurid, bold stripes of candy colours, and the paisley trousers were...

Well, they were paisley.

They were also very snug in some attractive places, but he was going to try not to think about that part.

"Almost everything down there was too short, too broad, or both. Apparently the hotel sees few guests of my build. Finding something you would be able to wear to the trade show was a minor miracle. Finding something I would be caught dead in was asking too much."

"Nah, it's fine. I like it."

"I didn't come out of the bathroom to be lied to, I came out of the bathroom to eat." He lifts the cover off of one of the dishes, inhaling deeply as a cloud of steam rises up. "To think... What has it been? A week? More? Less? Days, anyway, since I thought I would never eat again, much less a real meal."

The Sniper nods and uncovers his own. There's a soup, though he's got no idea what sort. There are grilled prawns and firm, bright stalks of asparagus laid out over rice. He eats, not that he thinks he tastes it much-- not the way the Spy does, evidently, because the Sniper knows he's not making any of those indecent little noises and he knows his face isn't going off into fits of rapture either.

"It's good." He says mildly, while the Spy continues to make love to his dinner.

"Yes. It is that. I will not even mind being stuck here, if this is the kind of cuisine we can expect."

"Yeah. Still more time than I'd like before the trade show. Enough time to plan things out, except..."

"Except we do not know nearly enough about what we will be walking into to plan anything before we have even seen the venue. Unless..."

"Unless?" He leans forward. The Spy has frozen, tip of one asparagus stalk resting against his lips as he thinks, and when he sinks deeper into thought, his tongue worries at it in ways that ought to be illegal. At least, the thoughts he's giving the Sniper definitely are.

Of course, so is murder.

"If she is in this hotel? We would not have to worry about the trade show, about the other attendees--"

"Ain't the other attendees I'm worried about, but yeah. Except for the part where we needed the show to re-arm ourselves."

Spy sets down the asparagus and rises, pacing the room. "No, not necessarily. There is a four star kitchen downstairs. Cleavers, meat forks, tenderizers, paring knives... there is a veritable arsenal for the killer with few options."

"Don't know about killing her with a meat tenderizer--"

"Not for the killing blow. But I would not mind drawing the affair out. Breaking a hand, or a knee, while we explain the situation, though..."

"Guessing you can find out where she's at?"

"If she is in the hotel, I can find out exactly where, and I can get everything we will need. Not in this, of course, but if I am lucky, there are chefs' whites that will fit me. Some adjustment will doubtless be necessary, but it is doable. Then I will be able to gain access to the kitchens, no one will even look at me."

They both relax, the Spy sitting once more and returning to his meal.

"There's a pavlova." Sniper uncovers the last dish.

"Just save mine for me. I did not wolf down my food."

"No, neither did I, but you spent enough time talking I had plenty of time to finish." He laughs. He waits anyway.

"I suppose..." Spy sets aside his fork, pushes the plate from his main course away and picks up the dessert dish. "I suppose that we could share the toothbrush. You'll need it as well, and I don't fancy breaking into housekeeping to find another tonight. Tomorrow I can. As long as I'm sneaking around."

"So magnanimous." Sniper snorts. "Sure. Tomorrow you can skulk around getting all kinds of things."

"We don't know that she is staying here." Spy reminds him. "But I can find out."

"Sure."

"Well. I do not know about you, but..."

"Been a long day?"

They both smile, for a moment, across the cart and the dishes and the remains of the pavlova.

"I think I will go ahead and get ready for bed. I did not sleep on the plane."

Sniper nods.

As nice as the hotel room is, the one bed is a little smaller than the mattress that took up the bulk of his old camper. He doesn't doubt it's comfier, but it is slightly narrower. There's no sticking to one half and pretending he's not sharing his bed with another man, but then again, after some of the things he's done, maybe the time for pretending is long gone.

They take their turns with the bathroom again, and when the Sniper climbs into bed, the Spy is naked and half asleep. Not so awake as to want to start something, but awake enough to cuddle up to the Sniper once he's under the covers as well. A part of him bucks at the idea, wants to run. A part of him wants to roll over, wrap an arm around the spook, and drift off to sleep together, and neither side likes the other's idea very much.

In the end he just stays where he's at and lets the Spy do whatever he likes to sleep comfortably. It doesn't make for a good night, and it doesn't remove the conflict, but it feels better than making a definite choice in either direction. In the time they've had-- and he thinks with all the travel, a week is about right-- he's come to like the Spy. He likes him too much to shove him away, and that in itself means he likes him far too much to keep him near.

Ahhhh, the good old "stuck in a hotel room together and there is only one bed" trope.

Truly, it has stood the test of time for a very good reason.

Looking forward to the next chapter :)

NOOOOOOOO Why did it end there ;.;

this is one of the only stories with a clear and new Plot, while not being confusing and up paced ! I'll be watin eagerly ! ( Bumppppp)

I'm going to be honest with you, I didn't think I would like this story, but I've been lurking on it. You weave it so well. The build up to actually getting to the Administrator is wonderful, it puts knots in the stomach in all the right ways.

I'll leave it at that before this turns into mindless gushing.

~~~Ch. 16~~~

"Good morning," The Spy murmurs, voice soft, and the Sniper sits, pushing him away. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me. If you like your space in the morning you can go ahead and tell me so, there's no need to spare my feelings. We've come too far and have too far left to go to start lying to each other now."

"It's nothing. It's... Look." He sighs, resting his elbows on his knees and pulling at his hair. "The thing... between us, we were-- It was--"

"A mistake." The Spy's voice is hollow. He rolls out of bed.

"A one-time thing." The Sniper corrects. "We had our time, and... and it was fine. But I can't keep doing this, it isn't... It isn't me."

"Fine." The Spy grabs for the paisley trousers. Ridiculous as they may be, they're all he has, and it is hard to have a dignified discussion naked. "Shall I sleep in the bathtub tonight, then?"

"What? No! Look--" Sniper vaults out of the bed, moves around to grab the Spy's arm. "No, don't do that."

"I suppose it wouldn't be hard, to go downstairs, falsify some things when no one is looking. I could have another room."

"No, I want you here! I mean-- We shouldn't split up too far."

"Of course." Spy yanks his arm away and rubs lightly at his wrist. "If you don't mind, I have work to do."

"Spy."

"I said I have work to do."

"I didn't mean I wanted you to leave."

"No. It is safer if we stay together until the job is done. I am nothing if not professional, in that respect. As are you."

"I don't want you to leave." Sniper reaches after him again. "I mean-- Yeah, today, you've got things to do, but I mean, after that... I want you around. I... I like having you around, all right?"

"Then what is the problem? You want me around, but you don't want me to touch you? You want to pretend you are not interested in me, so long as I am right there for whatever it is you do want?"

"Would you keep your voice down?" He hisses. "I want you around because I do-- I am-- Because I like having you around, right? I can't deal with the rest of this, and maybe it was a mistake going as far as we did and I can't make myself regret it as much as I know I should. I just can't keep doing it."

The Spy's frown softens. "Why not? I promise, I won't ask you for more than you can handle. I won't ask you for forever, I'm not in the habit of lying to myself. As long as we are sharing a bed, though... I thought we could continue. It doesn't have to mean something."

"Yes it does. That's why I can't do it. I can't just... just disconnect myself from it like that. I don't sleep with people just to get off. Maybe it sounds soft and stupid, but... it's just... you put something of yourself out there, you give something of yourself away... I can't keep giving myself up knowing there's no future in it."

Spy swallows. "So who says there is no future? Provided we survive, that is. We have proven that we can stand each other in all sorts of close proximity, in difficult situations. If two people can survive a trip like that together, it seems like a promising indicator to me."

"Spy, to you that trip was a mission. You endured it because you had a goal in mind you were willing to be miserable to achieve. To me, that trip was life. That's how I live. And when this is all over, that's what I'm going back to. I can't sit around in some penthouse, I can't swan about the cities of Europe, if I make it out of this, that's my life. Driving around the wilderness in a van."

"All right. So that is your idea of paradise and not mine. But suppose we win this. Suppose you get your van, and I my city apartment. You could stay with me whenever you need to return to civilization, to do your shopping, take a real shower. And... and from time to time, I could go... I could go spend a few days out, doing whatever. Wherever. And you would take your jobs, and I mine, when the opportunities arose. We would not be spending every waking second together, but nobody should. We would both be comfortable, and we would have some time together."

"You'd want to come out with me some time?"

"A couple of days, I think I could manage. I made it through all of this. And it was not all bad." He smiles. "If you think there will be room for me in your life, then I will keep room for you in mine."

"I don't know."

"What is there left to know?"

"What about when we're apart? When you're living in some city and I'm off in the middle of nowhere?"

"You will do what you enjoy, I will do what I enjoy. What of it?"

"I mean-- What do you enjoy, exactly? I'll be far away from the rest of the world, but you..."

"Could have anybody, while you are gone?" The Spy chuckles, stepping back into the Sniper's personal space. "I will not. Not if you will be terribly jealous."

"That's not what I said."

"No. But you are thinking it."

"I'm not interested in an open relationship." The Sniper shrugs uncomfortably. "Either this is important to you or it isn't, and if it's not, then I got no reason to get invested."

"Then I'm yours." Spy smiles and winds his arms about the Sniper's neck. "You'll have me? Come around every so often and remind me that I am not alone. I will last while we are apart."

"Sure." He gulps once, feels fairly certain that this much closeness is not cricket. The Spy is still half naked, and that half is pressing against his own bare chest, and it is not easy to push away the promises he's making, even when he tries to keep some skepticism. His hands move to the Spy's shoulders of their own volition to find the skin there cool, smooth save for one old scar.

His back may be cool, but his front is warm, and so is his mouth.

"I'm going to do my job." The Spy pulls back. "Order up breakfast if you like. I'll hurry back with something... I can go out again later."

The Spy leaves, putting the 'do not disturb' hanger in place, and after a moment of feeling lost and useless in the hotel room, the Sniper starts doing push-ups. There may be nothing he can do to get them closer to their ultimate goal yet, but there's no reason he should sit around doing nothing at all while he waits.

Oooh ! An update so quickly after I posted ! Awesome ! Thanks :D

Thank you!

~~~Ch. 17~~~

When the Spy returns, it is with an air of frustration.

"She is not here." He sinks down onto the bed, flops forward face first. "She has no intention of being here."

"So we catch her at the trade show. That was always our plan. Didn't you say yourself you wouldn't mind living in a little bit of luxury while we wait? Come on, breakfast's here. Probably cold, but... still better than what we had in the van."

The Spy smiles. "Well... I suppose it is not like me to balk at having a few days in a hotel with nothing to do but a very handsome man."

"Don't really need to flatter me."

"Fine. An acceptably handsome man."

"Okay." Sniper sighs. "You can go back to flattering me. 'Acceptable', is that what I am?"

"More than, more than. Handsome is, I think, the wrong word... it brings to mind something different. But very sexually exciting, you do something to me, you know? How is that?"

"Oh, that's fine. Might as well do something to you, long as we are stuck here..."

"I'm sorry I could not get anything useful..."

"Isn't your fault if she was never gonna stay in Pauling's hotel." The Sniper settles onto the bed, waits for a while as he watches the Spy finish eating.

There is an awkward moment, with the last of breakfast cleared away, where suddenly free to touch, he has no idea how, and the Spy is just waiting for him, looking over with a smile and a hint of a challenge, and the Sniper reaches for him, halting. His fingers skate up the other man's stomach, and he draws back.

"I still don't... Sorry. I'm not... I do want to, just..."

"You could try kissing me. It seemed to work for you before."

He still doesn't know what to do with his hands. Something, something not-too-clumsy, something not-too-eager but not-indifferent. He places them on the Spy's waist, and it feels natural enough to keep them there when the kiss starts to deepen.

"You scare the hell out of me," He admits, in the little space where their mouths part.

"Do I?"

"Don't know what to do with you."

"You're doing a pretty good job."

"Don't know how to feel about you, then."

"Still fighting yourself?" The Spy's hands slide up the Sniper's arms, and then his hold is draped loosely about the back of the man's neck. "Give in, cher. I can be good for you. I will not go anywhere, until we can agree that we are sick of each other."

"Half what I'm afraid of. What if I don't get sick of you?"

"Is that so terrible?" He laughs. "So we make love. Every night we are together at first... some day it will be a couple of times a week. If we are destined to be so lucky, then some day we will both be too old to do much of anything, but if you are still not sick of me then, I will be in the rocking chair next to yours."

"You're just all right with this?"

"It is a little overwhelming to think too long on the idea of growing old at all, let alone with someone else. But right now, I am glad to be with you. Right now, I think that if we are lucky enough to make it out of this campaign alive, I will still be glad to be with you. And I think that if we have our separate lives and only let them intersect as often as we can manage, then it is possible to not tire of each other."

"And you're just all right, with me being another man?" He pulls away.

"I am more than all right with you being a man." The Spy murmurs, following, kissing the Sniper soundly. "I would not have you any other way. I like men."

"Yeah, that's the part I get stuck on, to be honest. Don't want to want it and I do, and... I don't know. I'm not a pooftah. I just..."

"Enjoy having sex with other men?"

"No! Well, yeah. With you. I mean, maybe I would enjoy having sex with other other men, I don't want to find out. Nobody else I really trust, maybe, and it's not like there's anything I want you don't got, but... Maybe I just don't get how you can be all right with it."

"Practice?"

The Sniper chuckles, his hands returning to the Spy's sides. "Well... all right. If you think that'll help. What... what's in your pocket?"

"My new toothbrush. From housekeeping. You are welcome to keep the other."

"Here I thought you were just happy to see me."

Spy grins. "There you go. Already you're getting better at this."

He pulls away and goes to the open suitcase.

"What now?"

"I thought I saw something in here, hang on..."

"Look, I don't really want you to put on that negligee--"

"No, no, in her makeup kit. Ah! Aha!" He turns, holding a small bag aloft. The zipper is open and a flurry of cotton balls fly out.

"Why are you digging through some lady's makeup kit?"

The Spy reaches into the pouch, pulling out a small plastic bottle and tossing it to the other man.

"... Baby oil?"

"Having eliminated everything from the bathroom as a viable option, yes. Assuming you want to fuck me."

The obvious answer is 'Yes', whether or not it really is the right one. The safe answer perhaps is 'No'. The problem with either answer is that 'Yes' and 'No' are both words, and words are something the Sniper's brain has decided to stop processing. He nods dumbly, and the Spy is in his arms, in his lap, kissing him and undressing him and whispering promises into his mouth.

...and you stopped there!?!

HNNGH, Anne, you've given me such a case of blue lady-balls and I'm not even mad because you write this so beautifully.
Never stop, dahling!

I was gonna make a comment about blue balls, but someone beat me to it. Weeh

I'm a little evil. But I'm not completely evil, so have some porn:

~~~Ch. 18~~~

He gets the Spy's clothes off with trembling hands, with his tongue tracing over old scars, with a newfound permission from himself to really explore the other man's body, outside of getting them both off.

"I don't know what I'm doing," He says, mouth half-smothered on the Spy's chest, with hair tickling his nostrils. "I don't... I don't..."

"Shh... cher..." The Spy lifts himself up from the Sniper's lap, leans down to kiss him. "It's easy... let me show you..."

The Sniper lies back across the foot of the bed, wearing just the bathrobe there's nothing much for the Spy to remove, before they're skin to skin. The Spy swings his leg over, so that he's no longer straddling the Sniper. He kneels on the bed, and the Sniper turns to watch him, as he coats one finger in oil and starts to finger himself open.

"Fuck..."

"That's the idea." He looks back over his shoulder. "Like what you see?"

The Sniper reaches forward, squeezes one cheek, spreads it from the other so that he can watch the Spy open himself up. He kisses the spot where the top of the Spy's thigh and the curve of his buttock meet, bites lightly at the rounded muscle, then kisses his way up to the small of the Spy's back, hands running up and down his thighs. From where he is, he can feel the Spy move, his arm and his hand as he continues to prep himself, the subtler trembling of his muscles, the rumble of his deep groans as simple preparation becomes its own pleasure.

"I want you," He shudders, withdraws his fingers and coats his palm in oil before reaching back for the Sniper. "I want you in me... I want you to fuck me so hard... until I cannot walk straight. We have days before I need to leave this hotel room, why not? Why not fuck me 'til I cannot move..."

The Sniper swallows hard, lines himself up with the Spy's help. The heat and slick tightness are incredible, once he's in he takes a moment to muster up his self-control, to wonder how he's supposed to last long enough to wear the Spy out. He wraps one arm around the Spy's waist, hand slipping down the taut stomach to find the Spy's cock hanging full and heavy and waiting to fit into his fist. The Spy is already moaning loudly after just a couple of thrusts, and the Sniper brings his other hand up to cover the man's mouth, in a moment of clarity. Last thing they need is the next room calling in a complaint.

The Spy sucks two fingers into his mouth and the Sniper can't help a strangled groan of his own, hips pistoning forward harder, faster. He tries to keep stroking the Spy's cock in time, but with sensation coming from all angles a rhythm is hard to keep steady. He starts to feel too close and has to slow himself, to suck in deep breaths through gritted teeth and think about anything else. The Spy grabs his fist, moving it up and down along his own cock, and he pushes back until the Sniper can't keep up the pretense of control, until he has to thrust forward again, and the Spy's tongue swirls around his fingertips, slick and messy. Everything between them is slick and messy.

It's the best orgasm the Sniper has ever had, and he is collapsed over the Spy's back, the Spy barely staying up on his knees and the one arm that pillows his head, the both of them panting, the sweat alternately sticking their bodies together and causing them to slide against each other. He pulls out carefully and rolls off the Spy's back, onto the bed, half-in the wet spot.

"Incroyable." The Spy stretches out, a slight hitch in his movement, and drapes himself across the Sniper's chest.

"Smoke?"

"Please."

The Sniper's got one arm threatening to fall off the narrow bed anyway. He reaches around on the floor until he finds a crumpled box with one cigarette left. No amount of feeling around produces either matches or a lighter, though, and so for a long moment the cigarette remains unlit between the Spy's lips.

"Matchbook's on your nightstand." The Sniper mumbles, punching his pillow into shape.

"Mm." The Spy wriggles around until he is comfortable, head on the other man's shoulder. "I am fine."

"I ever try to bolt on you again, you remind me how much I liked that." He kisses the Spy's forehead.

"Bien sur. Let me know when you want to do it again. I don't think I am wrecked quite yet."

The Sniper smiles. This time, when half of him wants to wrap his arms around the Spy, he goes with it.

Wow, Anne, just WOW! You've out-porned yourself with this chapter!

Aw, why thanks!

~~~Ch. 19~~~

"You know, I haven't really watched television in about four years..." The Sniper says, rolling out of bed to fiddle with the dials on the room's set. "'Less I happen to be around when the team-- I mean, every so often I'd catch what one of 'em was watching..."

The Spy sits, frowning. "How close were you, really, to your team?"

"It's not being close so much... not like we were all friendly, really. But... we counted on each other, times. And someone needs to remember 'em all. Guess I haven't really thought about it, not really. Been so focused on being angry I haven't... I haven't really felt it, you know?"

"Angry is easier." The Spy agrees. "I am comfortable with anger. Loss is more difficult."

"Reckon. Hey! Homicide's still on!" He flops back onto the bed, instantly engrossed in the luxury he'd happily gone without long stretches at a time.

The Spy sighs and settles down against him. He reaches over for the matchbook and smokes a cigarette, and finds he doesn't mind too much even when the Sniper shouts 'Police! Don't move!' along with the television set.

After the programme ends, the Sniper orders up dinner, and the Spy merely leans against the wall in the corner, cloaked, when the bellboy brings the cart up and takes the old one away.

When he uncloaks, the Sniper gives him a look. "Just hanging about the room naked while the staff comes through?"

"Not as though he had any idea." The Spy grins.

"Come and eat your lasagna." The Sniper shakes his head.

"It is a pity..." The Spy lounges on the bed, careful not to drop sauce onto the bedspread. "The hotel has a beautiful pool, but it would have been impossible-- and rather distasteful-- to steal bathing costumes."

"We can go swimming once we're out of it all." The Sniper laughs. "We'll go to a nude beach someplace and we won't even have to worry about it. Someplace far away from anyone who knows our names or what we done."

"A nude beach? Hm... I do not know if I would want to share you."

"A private beach then." He grins.

"Think of all the uncomfortable places the sand would find its way into if I couldn't help myself and we had our wicked way with each other on a beach." The Spy smirks, lifting his glass.

"Then you can fucking buy a swimming pool and I don't care how we get the money. And when I stay with you, you can do all sorts of things to me out by it."

"A rooftop swimming pool, then, and a penthouse apartment? Well, at least when you are not surviving by your wits in the wilderness, I will be keeping you in the lap of luxury..."

"Sure."

"I have a bit of money put away, old paychecks... perhaps not enough to buy all that at once, but enough to live comfortably on until someone else hires me."

"I never have to worry about being obsolete." The Sniper nods. "Got a lot set aside myself, price for my kind of services is high and my lifestyle doesn't cost much. Might as well kick in a bit if I'm going to be using your place every now and then. You can always pay me back later."

They finish dinner, and the Spy stretches out on the bed. The Sniper goes to the window and looks out.

"What is it?" Spy stretches a hand out towards him. "Come to bed..."

"Dunno. Thinking about all of it. We'll have to think on our feet when we get to the trade show... guess I'm just hoping we're fast enough."

"Forget about it for tonight. Come back here and fuck me again. There's no point in worrying until we are there, we don't have enough to go on yet."

"Just thinking... it'd really be a shame if we didn't make it." He laughs nervously, turning from the window.

The Spy smiles and beckons him in. "So make the time we can be sure of worth it. After that, we can only try."

The Sniper nods and moves to the bed.

oh man. I adore the simple times that Spy and Sniper share together. They are too sweet together! SO excited for the trade show and the encounter with the Administrator! I'm sure she'll put up one hell of a fight and/or chase!

~~~Ch. 20~~~

They spend their last day in the hotel in a haze of frantic lovemaking, where the television stays off and room service isn't called until late. There is little talking, and near-constant touching.

The first morning of the trade show, they shower and dress. The Spy is clean-shaven, and has re-raided the makeup kit from the suitcase stolen from the airport.

"Don't laugh at me." He gives the Sniper a warning glare, as he starts applying the suitcase owner's foundation. It evens out his skin tone-- from far enough away, the vast difference between his pale skin and the sunburnt windows around his mouth and eyes disappear. From far enough away, the makeup is not obvious-- and, at least, no one will expect a man to be wearing makeup.

They take the car arranged by the hotel for the late Miss Pauling. The show does not take place in any convention hall, but in a vast open field, where stocky businessmen laugh as they try to hit plywood targets with the new weapon prototypes.

A fence has been erected, and is carefully guarded, but the Sniper has a pass, and the Spy is invisible and following close behind him.

Just past the gate, there is a long table, with crates of handguns and knives. One of the security men stops the Sniper.

"I haven't got anything to turn in," He starts, but the man just shakes his head.

"Orders of Mr. Mann, nobody gets into the trade show unarmed. If you didn't bring any of your own, you need to take a gun, sir."

Well, that certainly made things a little easier... He's never been a fan of small handguns, but it's not as though a Sniper rifle would be a big asset in the situation, and he needs something. He takes the largest calibre weapon on the table, to the guard's approval, and picks up a good knife while he's at it. The Spy has appeared somewhere else, blended into a crowd of entering business partners, and he comes to stand next to the Sniper, picking over the offerings until he finds something familiar.

"Shall we sample the goods?"

He manages to go unremarked upon, despite his paisley pants. He merely strolls along, pausing to examine each new prototype they pass, and behaves as though he belongs and that his appearance is not out-of-place, and the crowd in their suits accept him.

The roar of new weapons exploding around them makes for a good cover, for their conversation, when they find a spot where they can hear each other, but are masked from the crowd.

"Any plans?"

"There is a... I do not know how to describe it, exactly. An enormous helicopter up on the hill." The Spy nods. "We will look at two more displays together, then we will part. You will secure the helicopter. Do not wait more than an hour before you take off. If I do not make it, do not try to wait for me. You can at least escape without being caught."

"What makes you think I can pilot an enormous helicopter?"

"If it is too complicated, then do not kill the pilot." The Spy shrugs. "But keep a good eye on him, and make sure nobody else boards. I will find the woman, and bring her. When we are on board, you will take off-- or, your pilot. I am sure we can find someplace secluded."

The Sniper nods. "It's a big place, you sure an hour is enough time?"

"More than that and the risk of somebody investigating the helicopter rises. Besides... there are not many women here. A few models leaning on light aircraft and heavy artillery, but she will be the only woman looking to buy. I will move fast, but you must not wait too long."

"I'm waiting." The Sniper shakes his head. "If we can't get her, then what's it all for?"

The Spy frowns. "D'ac. Wait as long as you can, then, but I will still hurry. If someone does come, someone who is not me, and you cannot dispose of the intruder without raising an alarm, if too many try to take the helicopter back, then you must take off."

"Only if I've got no chance. But if you see me take off, then you get out, whatever else is going on."

The Spy nods. "So we have a plan."

"Right."

They walk on a little more, and make general comments on the new line of rocket launchers, and on a collection of weapons marketed to 'The Professional Shark Fighter'.

"Is this a... thing, in Australia?" The Spy laughs.

"Only if you live on the coast." The Sniper shrugs. "Otherwise you've got to fight land animals. Never much went in for that, myself. We didn't live near a lot of the... you know."

He waves a hand, his eyes darting to a group of musclebound men with fanciful facial hair and grenade launchers.

"Well, don't let it bother you. I like--" The Spy stops short, picking up a Shark Knife. "This one, don't you? Quite a lot. I might take up shark fighting, if I would get to use it often enough."

"Thanks." The Sniper whispers.

"You, as well."

"We'll both of us take up shark fighting." He smirks, running a thumb along the blade. "Yeah. I'd own one of these."

"Go on," The Spy nods in the general direction of the helicopter. "I'll go... net us our shark."

The Sniper heads for the hill, drawing as little attention as he can. He hopes the 'shark' in question doesn't give the Spy too much trouble, but he doesn't like the idea of splitting up at this stage in the game. Still, he doesn't have a better plan... and if they want to get out of this, they will need the helicopter...

This fanfic does not get the attention it deserves, and so I bump it now. I like this fanfic, and I hope to see the next chapter soon :)

>>53 Kid, Anne is the most consistently updating author on the chan, so bumps are not needed. Bumping is when you send an old, hasn't-been-updated post to the top of the board so it won't be forgotten.

Anyways: The suspense! I can't help but feel something is going to go terribly wrong, but I really want spy and sniper to grow senile together... argh

Thanks, guys! Here's the Sniper's solo side...

~~~Ch. 21~~~

The Sniper weaves his way through the crowd, relieved to go largely unnoticed. The hill overlooking the trade show is just past a large barbecue pit and a stand marked 'irregulars'.

There are a lot of explosives in the 'irregulars' barrels.

He pushes any thoughts on irregular explosives aside. The men manning the barbecue pit are distracted by a display of extra-fancy flare guns, and it's easy enough to slip past them.

He takes the handgun out first, weighs it carefully and judges the balance. It shouldn't handle too differently from the Spy's Ambassador, and that had worked fine for him, when it came to taking Pauling out. Thinking about using the Ambassador, though, brings thoughts of the Spy, and he absolutely cannot afford to sort through any of those now.

The words 'enormous helicopter' did not do the vehicle justice. It was something half-helicopter, half-plane, a body that wanted to be a bomber and massive rotors that would lift them into the sky. When the Spy had first said it was a helicopter, the Sniper had had his doubts, but this... this could take them pretty far.

The hatch is open, providing a long ramp that will take him up through the belly of the thing to the pilot's seat. Once he's inside, though, he sees the major snag in their plan.

The pilot is dozing lightly, and it would definitely be doable, easy even, to get the drop on him now. To kill him. But the man was a hulking brute, and there was no way the Sniper could hope to just take him hostage and get them flown out. Even in his sleep, the man radiated testosterone, he wouldn't go down without a fight. If it came down to shooting him or being overpowered-- and it would come down to that-- the Sniper couldn't let the inevitable struggle happen up in the air.

No. He couldn't let it be a struggle.

He creeps forward, into the cockpit-- barely divided from the rest of the craft-- and he presses the muzzle of the gun to the sleeping giant's temple.

"Police," He whispers. "Don't move."

The man is dead before he has the chance to wake. With all the gunshots, grenades, and rocket fire going on down at the trade show, nobody even hears a single shot from the aircraft.

He can't roll the body down the ramp, there's too much danger of someone taking notice. He can shift him into the co-pilot's seat, though it isn't easy to.

The waiting is the hardest part, but he does his best to familiarize himself with the controls. It all seems pretty straightforward. He hopes, at any rate, that it will prove to be.

He's not sure how long the Spy is taking. He doesn't bother checking his watch. He'll wait as long as he has to, so long as he can. It doesn't matter.

His revenge is important, of course. It's what he wanted when they started, and he wants it still. If he didn't, he wouldn't be there... Still, at some point on the road, the Spy had become important as well.

"Hurry up, Spook." He whispers, knuckles white on the back of the pilot's seat. "Come on... land the big one and then we can go."

Whispering does not make the Spy appear, as much as he wishes it might, but it feels a little less like doing absolutely nothing.

The sounds of the trade show continue outside, and through the cracks and booms and rattles, the Sniper waits.

You have me on the edge of my seat here oh god of trembling dramatic tension.

Ooh ! This story is so exciting ! I hope to see an update soon :)

I had a dream about this fic last night; not ABOUT it, but I was on the run with another woman and all I could think was "Huh, this is sorta like Howl, Dog".

This is getting really nail biting, I'm looking forward to the next installment!

Thanks, all! And here's the Spy's solo half of the mission... (also a bit short-ish, but I think it's slightly longer than the Sniper's...)

~~~Ch. 22~~~

The Spy ducks through the crowds, eyes scanning the people who swarm the booths, searching out any hint of the woman.

He finally spots her, and makes his approach with no small amount of urgency. When he speaks, it is with the Sniper's accent, by now much easier to mimic than any of the others he has practiced.

"Ma'am? I'll need you to come with me." He places a hand lightly at her elbow.

"I beg your pardon?" She stares coldly at him, one hand on her hip, the other holding a derringer in a very unimpressed manner, barely aimed in the direction of the booth's paper targets.

"I have some bad news."

"Do you... work for me?" Her eyes narrow.

"For Mr. Hale, Ma'am. It took your offices a long time to get word to us."

"You don't look like someone who works for Mr. Hale." She says, eying the paisley pants with open skepticism.

"I'm a decoy in the hippie hunt later, Ma'am."

"Saxton does love a good hippie hunt." She smiles at that, anyway.

"Yes'm. They're all unarmed and in the pen still. Once they're let loose, the participants've got to kill 'em all with their bare hands. A few of us are dressed up fruity and carrying knives, sort of a surprise for the less-careful hippie hunter."

"Son, this isn't my first rodeo." Her glare returns in full-force. "I know how a hippie hunt works. What I want to know is why a decoy hippie's been sent to give me bad news now."

"Walk with me." He shakes his head. "You don't want this news broadcast."

"I have no intention of just following some phony hippie--"

"Ma'am, I need you to come with me, we believe your life may be in danger and we need to get you to Mr. Hale's helicopter where we can be sure you're safe until the mercenaries are apprehended." This time, he's less subtle about it, he grabs her elbow and leads her off.

"What mercenaries?"

"Reports came in saying maybe three men escaped from a place called Badwater Basin to blow up a building. They killed Miss Pauling."

She hisses, looking about the crowd. "Which three? Those useless morons can't even die right!"

"I don't know, Ma'am. I just know they blew up a building. They only gave me what they deemed the 'pertinent information'."

"RED or BLU?"

"Don't know, Ma'am. Helicopter's up ahead, you'll be safe there." He leads her past the last few busy booths. There's open field between them and his goal, as long as they can skirt the barbecuers and the man hawking irregular merchandise.

At least the men there recognize her and don't question why she might be walking right up to or onto the helicopter.

"Pauling's dead?"

"And her pass to the show. And half the building."

"Damn."

"Too right." He nods. "Don't worry, Mr. Hale's putting his best men on the hunt for the bastards. I'm sure someone knows who escaped. Pictures'll be circulating, don't you doubt it, and once they're done for, you'll be safe to enjoy the rest of the show."

He keeps his eye on the hand with the derringer as they board. That's what she'll be making her first move with, once she realizes what's going on, and she'll put it together once she sees the Sniper.

"As long as I don't miss the hippie hunt. I love seeing that man beat a filthy peacenik to death..."

"I'm sure they'll put it on hold if they have to, just 'til the crisis is over." He promises, before dropping his accent as the hatch closes behind them. "But I think you will be missing the festivities."

They finally have her cornered. Hehe, A hippie hunt with decoy 's ! Nicely done :) I hope to see the next chapter soon !

I am beyond sitting on the edge of my seat.

Thank god Anne updates so frequently otherwise I may die from the suspence!

Glad I've got you hooked! I shan't leave you hanging too long!

~~~Ch. 23~~~

He is invisible before she can turn, on the move before she has the chance to fire her derringer, and then the Spy is holding her arms fast behind her with a knife to her throat.

"Take us up!" He shouts.

"I'm working on it!" The Sniper calls back.

"What happened to the pilot?"

"A point blank headshot, that's what!" He snaps. "Look at the brute, you think I was gonna risk letting that live?"

The Spy keeps the blade at the Administrator's throat, but he releases her arms to draw the revolver he had taken on entering the trade show.

"On your knees, madame, s'il-vous-plait."

"I should have known you'd be one of the escapees." She snarls at him, obeying the order. He remains steady even as the massive helicopter takes off, and she has no opportunity to go for her gun again.

"Call me a survivor type." He shrugs.

"You look different without the mask. I always thought you'd be uglier."

"Well, may I say, you have not disappointed me in the least, madame." The Spy says, with a tight smirk. "Now, we require a few answers."

"A few answers aren't going to bring your friends back."

"Oh, please. I was never really their friend. Now tell me, what led to the bomb being dropped?"

She raises a challenging eyebrow and says nothing. He lights a cigarette for her and levels the muzzle of the gun to her forehead, just beneath her widow's peak.

"Very well. Your last chance-- I hear confession is good for the soul. Perhaps I should be speaking to... whomever has custody of that dusty relic now. The truth, or I will not be this merciful."

"The truth? The war ceased to be profitable. What more do you want?"

"I want to know how you came to hire both the RED Sniper and myself." The Spy growls. "How long as this endgame been your plan? Who benefits? Are you the mastermind behind all of this madness, or is there someone else? What--"

There is a loud thud and the helicopter dips and wavers slightly. When the Sniper calls back over his shoulder to the Spy, his tone is climbing towards hysteria.

"Spy, kill her now and get up here and fly this thing!"

"We will never get our answers if I am too quick--"

"You won't have a chance if you don't! Do you want her to live or do you want her to die? End it and fly!"

He wants her to die. He really does. If the Sniper had sounded any less panicked, he would not have taken the ultimatum so seriously, but as things stand, he steps back, steadies his gun hand, places his finger on the trigger, and...

Goddamnit! that's just a mean place to leave the story hanging at Anne. I am le sad now.

That aside I'm still very much in love with all of your stories and check for updates every morning. Please continue your awesome work.

Oh jeez!! Such a cliffhanger!

Thank you! Relief from the cliffhanging imminent (not that I won't be evil again with another one...);

~~~Ch. 24~~~

The whole helicopter rocks wildly again, and the Spy narrowly avoids squeezing down on the trigger and sending a shot wild, but he manages. The Administrator goes sprawling inelegantly, and the Sniper turns back from the controls to shout again.

"Is she dead?"

"I cannot shoot her if you cannot keep this thing steady!"

"I'm not the problem, mate, just get up here!"

The Spy fires. He thinks he hits her lung, and she should die surely enough, but as he moves up to the front, he stops to pick up her derringer anyway. The last thing he wants is for her to live just long enough to try avenging herself.

Another boom shakes the helicopter as the Sniper hands control off to the Spy.

"What is that?" The Spy scans the sky. The few clouds are almost perfectly still.

"Company." The Sniper holds onto the back of the pilot's chair, and weighs the trade show knife carefully in his hand. This time the boom opens up a man-sized hole in the roof of the vehicle's body.

"Damn, I knew I never should have bought anything rocket-resistant! Of course I'd need to blow a hole in it myself!"

"What is going on?" The Spy asks, though he's afraid he doesn't really need to. He keeps watching the controls and the sky and the landscape passing below.

"SAXTON HALE!" Hale thunders. "AND YOU'VE ABSCONDED WITH MY GIANT BLOODY HELICOPTER! NOW WHAT IS THE MEAN-- H-Helen?"

"Helen?" The Sniper is taken aback, if only for a moment. He'd stopped thinking of the Administrator as a real woman, someone who had a name and a life, outside of ruining his.

"Did you kill her?"

"No. Don't half wish I had after what she did to me."

He's expecting a range of possible responses. Hale had known the woman, had sounded like he might've been fond of her. Not to mention, they'd killed his pilot to boot and stolen his helicopter. He's flabbergasted when the man instead laughs.

"Say, where are you from, anyway?" Hale finally asks him.

Lovely, he grits his teeth. This again. "South Australia."

"And where's your mustache, then?"

"We don't always have them, out where I'm from."

"Then this is almost unfairly like fighting a LITTLE GIRL, and not a MAN! Well, come at me, ya hairless yobbo! Mano a mano!"

The Sniper holds onto the knife. "Mano a mano? What do you think I am, a fucking moron?"

"I'm beginning to worry you might be," The Spy interjects.

"No choice now." The Sniper gives the back of the pilot's chair a final pat. "Just keep us even."

"But--"

"Keep us even." He repeats.

"I'm going to fall ASLEEP over here waiting on you, Sheila! Are you going to fight me like a man or are you just going to sit there waiting for me to kill ya?"

For a moment, reality wears dangerously thin, and the Sniper remembers it all. The Army-- the first time he'd left home except to be on his own in the never never-- being the smallest and least hirsute man there and the subject of endless jeers. He'd been a natural with a sniper rifle, it hadn't mattered. To all the others, he'd just been... Been useless-in-a-fight, been not-Australian-enough, not-much-of-a-man, been not fast enough or strong enough or any fun to go out drinking and brawling with. For two years, he'd done everything for them because he had to, and he'd hated every single one of them.

Right now, he thinks, he really, really hates Saxton Hale.

I'm sitting here at my computer waving a banner about that has "YOU CAN DO IT SNIPER!" printed it on it.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME
I LOVE YOU
I HATE YOU
OH GOD,
I'M GOING TO SPEND ANOTHER HOUR JUST LAYING HERE AWAKE THINKING ABOUT WHAT MIGHT BE HAPPENING.
you are too good at this writing thing, the suspense is killing me

Thank you, thank you, and now, a reprieve from the horror of my evil cliffhangers... (this was supposed to be the last chapter, but it wound up running a little long, so there will be more)

~~~Ch. 25~~~

The Spy's knuckles are white on the controls. The lights and dials are meaningless, and eventually he abandons their study in favour of the horizon. As long as he can see the horizon, he'll know if he's flying true.

Beyond that, he just has to trust the Sniper knows what he's doing, but it isn't easy. He needs to find a place to set them down, but it can't be anywhere near the trade show, so he keeps flying, he doesn't even know their heading.

Every meaty thud and pained grunt of the brawl going on behind him is painful, every roar of anger sends fear jolting into the pit of his stomach and every second the fight goes on is another second he has to worry. He doesn't know where he's going, he doesn't know how much fuel he has, and he doesn't know how he is supposed to land a helicopter, but all of those worries he forgets. Until he knows the Sniper has won, there is no room to worry about anything else.

The Sniper comes flying back into the front, hitting the instrument panel, and the Spy takes his eye off the window for a second. The man's face is a mess of blood, and the knife is gone.

"Let me, let me just for a minute."

"Nah. Can't... can't go back to flying. Think I can finish this." The Sniper promises.

The Spy winces when he throws himself back into the fight only to hit the instrument panel again, this time cradling a purpled hand to his chest, wrist angled all wrong. His other hand slams down on the panel when he goes to push himself back up and the hatch opens.

The Sniper grabs onto the pilot's chair with his good arm, but Hale grabs onto the Sniper, and there's little the Spy can do but rush to close the hatch again. There are five switches smeared with a bloody handprint, and he flips them all, veering wildly, until the hatch closes.

The helicopter is silent after that.

"Sniper?"

No answer. He cannot leave off flying, but he has to know.

There's an empty field ahead, to one side of a dusty road. The only obstacles are the long fence bordering the roadside and the little farmhouse, but the field has no crops and no livestock, and the Spy manages to set them down.

"Sniper!" He leaps out of his seat, rushes back. The Sniper is there, at least, curled on his side, lying right up against the closed hatch. "Sniper?"

He's breathing. Rattling and gasping, each one its own labour, but he is breathing, and that's enough for the Spy to breathe just a little easier.

There is no sign of Hale, the Administrator's body is gone, but the Sniper is alive. The Spy moves him up, just away from the hatch.

"I'm going for help." He promises. The Sniper opens one eye, but he cannot seem to focus it, and the Spy presses a fervent kiss to the man's brow. "There is a house, I will get help."

He runs back up to the controls, opening the hatch once more before killing the engines.

He doesn't think about what he must look like. There is blood on his hands, on his awful stolen clothes, perhaps even streaked across his face along with sweat and makeup. His hair and everything he wears is in disarray, his expression is drawn with more worry than he's ever felt. When the bomb had been dropped, when he thought he would die, there had been a strange kind of acceptance, but this he cannot accept.

He runs down the field to the house, and does not have to bang on the door long before a dour-looking man answers.

"You get on off the place. Is that your helicopter? Think you're doing, scaring the bloody hell out of the sheep? ALICE, STAY IN THE HOUSE, THERE'S A BLEEDING HIPPIE AT THE DOOR!"

"Yes. No. I'm not-- Please! My-- My friend, he is hurt. Badly. I need a doctor for him, he could-- he could die, I can't--"

"ALICE, GET ME MY SHOTGUN, THE BLEEDING HIPPIE'S FRENCH!"

"Damn you, do you have a phone or not?!" The Spy shouts, his fist hitting the side of the house. "Do you understand, he could die! You do not have to let me in, you can aim your shotgun at me all you like, you can use it if that will make you happy, but you will call a doctor for the man in that helicopter, or so help me, I will ruin you. I have done so much worse."

A woman-- Alice, the Spy can only surmise-- comes up behind the shouting homesteader. "George, go and call a doctor, for goodness' sakes. Jack's got all the sheep out miles from here, as if they'd even remember being spooked by the man's helicopter for more than five minutes! No, no, I'll call a doctor, you take the stretcher on up and help him bring his friend in the house."

"Alice--"

"I won't have any arguments. You'd want someone to do for you if you were in an accident somewhere." She scolds.

"Madame, thank you. A million times, thank you." The Spy kisses her hand, and she laughs softly and makes a shooing gesture.

Her husband only grumbles and goes around the back of the house to a shed.

"Come on, then, you want use of the stretcher." He calls, and the Spy hurries to assist.

"He looks bad," Spy warns.

"Reckon we've seen as bad or worse, you deal with plenty of injuries out here." The man shakes his head. Still, when they reach the helicopter, his reaction tells a different story entirely.

"I told you, it is bad." The Spy frowns, dropping to his knees to check on the Sniper again.

He is surprised when the reluctant old man does the same.

"Holy dooley... What-- What happened?"

"The stretcher, please, I will be happy to explain all inside, when-- when his condition is a little better."

"Course. What am I thinking... stretcher. He-- You reckon he'll be right?"

"I do not know... I do not know what I will do if he is not. If either of us were to survive, I never thought... I thought it would be all or nothing, to be honest. But I entertained the thought, that he might make it without me. Not the other way around." The Spy gently rolls the Sniper onto the stretcher and takes up the front end.

"Boy's lucky..." The man shakes his head, frown deepening. "Short a mate like you he wouldn't. Alice'll have the doc up on his way by now, though, she's a forceful woman. She gets an idea about something and she sticks with it long as need be. Well. Always figured our son had to get it someplace, and it wasn't from me."

"Ah. Jack? The, ah, boy with the sheep?" The Spy asks, watching the ground carefully as they walk to avoid any holes or anything to trip over.

The man shakes his head with a snort. "Jack... Jack's the neighbours' boy, nah. Come on, almost to the house. ALICE! ALICE, GO ON IN THE BACK, YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE THIS! IF THAT DOCTOR'S STILL ON THE PHONE, YOU PUT ME ON, GET BACK!"

"I'm sure it looks worse than it is." The Spy whispers, leaning in towards the Sniper. "They are sending for a doctor, you... You will be fine. You're going to be fine."

Who wants to bet Alice and hubby are ma and pa to Snipes?

Excited to see where this goes. c:

I love you so much right now.

Anne you always make my mornings, you know that?

I always scuttle to the computer in the morning in the hopes of finding more of your writing. I realise (a little guiltily) that slobs like me get a lot of entertainment from your work, but never really take the time to thank you or even tell you you're awesome. So to amend that: you're awesome. I keep meaning to draw something based after one of your stories, but I'm still trying to settle on one.

Ah! NO Sniper!!!!
Please tell me this has a happy ending...
God the fighting, that looks like it sucks...damn Sniper can fight.

>>69

I thought the exact same thing.

Thanks, all!

~~~Ch. 26~~~

Between the two of them, they get the Sniper off of the stretcher and onto the couple's sofa. The Spy winces sympathetically during the move, though the Sniper does not stir.

"You're not a hippie, are you?" The old man says, looking the Spy over.

"No. I am not."

"Mercenary?"

He starts. "Yes. And... Pardon me for asking, Monsieur, but... what do you know of mercenary work?"

"More than I ever cared to, I can tell you that." He walks to the window. "Damn it all, where is that bloody doctor?"

"I should thank you, for your hospitality..."

"Don't."

The Spy quiets.

"What happened?" The man doesn't turn from the window, one hand on the curtain, eyes scanning the road nervously.

"It is a long story, I'm sure... I am sure you do not really care to hear."

"Wait here a tic." He leaves his post for the kitchen and returns with damp hand towels and a bag of ice. He wraps the ice to the Sniper's wrist and lets the Spy take one of the towels, to gently dab at drying blood on the Sniper's face.

"Thank you."

"Don't. I mean-- A man likes to feel like he's doing something. Something more than waiting on his arse for some doctor."

They sit in silence for a while.

"George." The man says, after a time, extending his hand.

"I am afraid I have not had a name of my own in many years." The Spy accepts the handshake. "You may call me anything you wish, I suppose. It is... It is good to know you."

"Yeah." He stands, blowing out an agitated sigh and returning to the window once more. "Dammit..."

"There is something more on your mind as well?"

"Just... Just thinking. I know what the rest of the country's like. I did my tour in the army when I was a young man, like my dad before me, and I came back to run his station when I got out... I didn't want much more out of life. And then when the war rolled around... I was already out by then, and my old man dead, and my son a tyke, so nobody called me back up."

The Spy nods politely.

"My brother went. He stayed, too. Nowadays you wouldn't know he wasn't always... Well, like anyone, from out there. I didn't approve of it much, myself. And I guess I always thought, well, my son'll go do his bit, but he'll come back normal, God knows I did. And some day he'll take over for me. And sometimes I wonder if it wasn't my fault for staying here. Maybe if we'd just left off the place, gone and been like everyone else... I don't know, somehow things would've been different."

"Your son was in the military?"

"Course he was." George snorts. "Why wouldn't he be? We may not all be muscles and mustaches in these parts, but it's no reason not to take him."

"I am sorry. Did he... did he-- die?"

"No. No, and God willing he won't today."

Those words out, everything falls into place fast, and the Spy feels a gasp somewhere in him that he doesn't give voice to.

"Now." George turns to look at him, and there is a deep, hard sadness etched into the lines of his face-- a face that could be the Sniper's in thirty-something years' time-- and in his eyes. "How did this happen?"

The Spy swallows, his hand pausing, the damp towel in his clutch stained pinkish now. "I owe you the truth, then."

"I'd appreciate it."

"We were betrayed, by our employers."

"Yeah. You were one of the fellows on his team, then?"

The Spy shakes his head. "No, but... that is what made it all the more impressive, perhaps. Your son saved my life. We were the only survivors, when it was decided that the war was 'no longer profitable'. After that, we both wanted satisfaction..."

"Revenge?" George scowls a little at that.

"Answers. Answers, also. It was sudden, and we both felt we deserved an explanation. Especially in learning that our respective employers hired us through the same agent. We did not get answers... not many. We never will."

"And what happened to him?"

"He got into a fistfight, with a Saxton Hale,"

The man's eyes widen and he lets out a low whistle. "Lucky he made it this long,"

"It was Hale's helicopter. I think he fell out. The Sniper-- Your son-- I got the hatch closed, I saved him. It should have been sooner. I should have... Well, you know I owe him my life. It is a debt I will never repay, but-- But I want you to know--"

He nods, dismissive. "That's fine. Have to tell his mother sometime... After the doc comes. She'll want to see him once she knows, and she shouldn't-- Not like this. After the doc sees to him some, then I'll tell her."

"That sounds like a wise course of action." The Spy nods.

"Dammit, where's that doctor?!"

The knock at the door surprises them both, though they'd been waiting for it. George throws the door open, recognizes the doctor at once.

"Frank! Took you long enough, that's my--" He drops his voice. "That's my son."

"Bloody hell," He rushes over, laying his bag on the coffee table. "Your boy looks like he went fifteen rounds with Saxton Hale."

George's expression tightens, and Spy bites at his lip and looks at the corner.

"You're not telling me--"

"He's had an interesting life." George shrugs.

"He won." Spy whispers. It's close enough to the truth.

Both men look at him in open awe, and the doctor starts his work.

"Ought to call for an ambulance, he should be in hospital. I know it's a long ride out, but they can take better care of him down in Adelaide. Even if I took him 'round to my office, I'm just a country doctor and I don't have a full-time staff."

"I'll get on the phone. Wasn't thinking." George nods. "Just do what you can 'til we can get one, reckon."

"Of course."

"If you need any aid at all, tell me what to do." The Spy volunteers. "I will do it. I-- I owe this man my life. I am more than happy to help."

"Hold his hand,"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Hold his hand in place while I see about this wrist."

The Spy forces an apologetic smile. "English is not my first language." He excuses.

"That's fine, just keep him still a sec."

George returns from using the phone. "I need to tell Alice."

"Damn. Doesn't she know?"

"Thought it was a stranger brought in. No, she doesn't."

"Your boy'll live, but how well depends on getting him to the hospital. At least you can tell her he'll live."

"Appreciate it, Frank." He tips an imaginary hat, before heading into the back of the house, and leaving the Spy to assist.

"He will be all right?"

"I said he'll live. George's boy saved your life?"

"Yes."

Frank looks the Spy over, but has nothing else to say on the subject.

Aww I hope Alice takes it ok!

Argh Anne, you update too quickly! I couldn't get on the net yesterday so I had to read though ch25&26 in one sitting.... and I swear I totally realized that those farmers were Sniper's parents. Before Sniper's dad says that little thing about his son at the end of 25. I really did. But I couldn't say this because you'd already updated. why
(by the by, just kidding on the speedy updates. That's a good thing.)

(Captcha says 'Overall entryiv'... Captcha, there have been more than iv entries by now, overall...)

Thanks, all!

>>77
I am totally willing to believe anyone who calls a plot development but than has me go and reveal it before they can say they know what's going down. My chapters are short but highly regular... And I am realizing that if I was ever unable to get online for a full twenty four hours, someone somewhere would think something terrible had happened to me...

~~~Ch. 27~~~

In the waiting room of the hospital, the Spy paces. He takes careful note of their surroundings and keeps one ear on the news programme on the television by the nurses' station, in case the incident at the trade show is covered.

George sits in one hard plastic chair, stone-faced, eyes on the wall, and Alice grips his hand and watches the clock. The worry is clear on both of them, and there is the very hint of tears about her, but she does not cry. The Spy considers it admirable. Not surprising, then, that she is the force to which her husband ascribed so much of their son's personality, he decides.

They have brought him along, and allowed his presence there in the waiting room, and largely ignored him, though Alice had thanked him for his part in saving her boy.

The Spy is not sure what to feel, or what to think. These are the parents of the man he'd slept with and lived with and made plans he never honestly thought he would live to carry out with. Some part of him had been sure in the Sniper's survival, though.

Well, he would survive. That was what the country doctor had told them.

The Spy had tiptoed around his relationship to the Sniper, and now, with the whole revenge scheme played out, he isn't so sure anymore. He can't know how much of those plans were real, how much were things they said so they could pretend they were coming back. He hardly knows what his own mind had been over some of those days.

It had been the Sniper, though... It had been the Sniper who had insisted in all or nothing, in a relationship beyond meaningless release. And with the parameters they had imposed, the Spy felt he could live with that. An honest relationship, one where they were permanent fixtures in each other's lives, if not always close-at-hand. He would have time to himself, to not worry over someone else squeezing the toothpaste from the middle of the tube or dropping towels on the floor-- though his memories of their time in the hotel are so hazy and narrowly-focused that he can't say he knows the Sniper would do either. Still, he could live his life the way he pleased most of the time, either on his own or with the Sniper on hand. Once in a while, he could leave his own comfort zone, he could watch the stars come out over the desert someplace and sleep in the back of a van and remember the time they first made love or recreate the experience.

Not that he could ever hope to explain any of his reasons for staying and worrying to the old couple. It was no great stretch of the imagination to think they would never understand, just based on the Sniper's old reluctance. Even if they did understand, a slim chance, the Sniper would be furious at him for saying something. They accepted that he was a man with a debt, at least. He worried more than once, in the farmhouse and on the drive, that they might not, but they had pressed him with no questions, beyond George's need for the truth about his son's injuries.

Nobody notices, when he ducks out of the waiting room, and nobody notices when he disappears completely behind a potted palm. When the parents and only the parents are admitted into the room where the Sniper is recovering, nobody notices if an invisible man follows them.

Alice stands at the head of the bed, stroking her son's forehead and tutting softly under her breath, and George sits in another hard plastic chair, across from the foot of the bed, sits and watches with a little of the tight worry seeping out of the lines of his face.

The Spy stands on the other side of the bed, keeping still. He can see them both from there, but he pays them little mind, placing his hand softly over the Sniper's, touch so light the cloak remains undisturbed.

There, he waits.

I have nothing to say, I just wanted to express my continued approval.

"He can't know how much of those plans were real, how much were things they said so they could pretend they were coming back. He hardly knows what his own mind had been over some of those days. "

Oh god that feel. Their relationship is so...oooooh. I can't wait to see where this goes.

Thank you so much!

~~~Ch. 28~~~

When the Sniper finally stirs awake, it's all the Spy can do to keep himself still and quiet.

"Oh, thank heavens!" Alice starts, alerting her husband to the change. "We didn't know when you-- I wasn't sure-- Oh, thank heavens!"

"... Mum?"

"You hush now and rest."

He looks around, confusion and worry spreading, until he sees the empty air where he can feel a gentle pressure on his hand.

"Your friend brought you in." George stands. He doesn't walk any closer than the foot of the bed. "Doctor came by and said you'd do better in Adelaide and we rung an ambulance. Apparently you stole Saxton Hale's helicopter."

The Sniper winces, his eyes dart up to very nearly rest on the Spy in spite of the cloak. "Guess so, Dad."

"Son..."

"Retiring." He promises, before closing his eyes again.

"Thank you." George squeezes the bedframe, head bowed. His wife continues to fuss, and the Sniper continues to focus on breathing, neither quite awake nor quite asleep, until a nurse ushers his parents out.

Once she has gone as well, the Spy appears.

"How... on earth... did you find my parents?" The Sniper groans. "In all of Australia, how'd you find... two people... who..."

"Who just happened to be your parents? I landed the helicopter in a field meant for sheep. Apparently the neighbours' boy had them out someplace else. It was the only place to land... And there was a house. I went to use their telephone for a doctor, and... I didn't know, until he told me. They never told me your name, but I never asked them. I... I did not know, if... If you really ever meant for me to learn it."

"If you like. Visiting hours supposed to be over?"

The Spy leans forward, in spite of any better judgment, and kisses the least bruised places on the Sniper's face. "The words 'visiting hours' hold no meaning to me, mon cher. What... What do you think you will do, with your retirement?"

"Told you."

He smiles. "Ah yes, of course. I just... wondered where I should be buying real estate."

"I can live anywhere..."

"All right. First we need to go and rescue your things, haven't we? Once you are well enough to travel."

"Probably have to stay with my parents." The Sniper laughs, stops when laughing hurts too much. "Oh... never woulda figured."

"I rather like them."

"Yeah?"

"Your mother seems like a... a very admirable woman. And... your father... we got along. Is that surprising?"

"Bit, yeah."

The Spy chuckles softly and kisses the Sniper again. "The bed beyond that curtain there is empty. For tonight, I will stay here."

"Don't let them elect me to Parliament." The Sniper mumbles, drifting off to sleep.

"I do not know what you are dreaming about, but I promise not to let anyone give you a government position." The Spy smiles and strokes his hair. "I thought you people fought kangaroos for that kind of thing..."

"Not sleeping. Abolished the monarchy. Still... still all based on who you can beat, though. Afraid they'll put me in charge of something, anyone finds out I mighta killed Hale."

"Well, go to sleep, then. Perhaps it was the fall that killed him. They can make gravity a prime minister. You are fine. We'll leave this insane place, once your doctor and your mother are satisfied."

This time, the Sniper's breathing evens and when sleep claims him, he remains asleep.

The Spy draws the curtain that divides the room back, and lies on the empty bed, his cloak activated once more. He watches the Sniper until he too falls asleep.

Anne, you make me unbelieveably happy.

"Don't let them elect me to Parliament."

They can make gravity a prime minister.

I love what you do with the TF2 world! So fitting with the canon. I wish I had talent like that, to make it so effortless.

I love how you ended it but I'm sad it's over. Any chance you'll be writing a version of this from Sniper's perspective?

I saged everything, just to be sure.

So, it's over? Seriously? Damn.
I mean, damn. It's a great ending, but I have such cravings for more. The writing style of narrative third person was nice, it felt like I got to know both characters very well.

Captcha: Zimbalist innonst
small innocent violinists are playing right now...

This may not be necessarily over because I just found this extra chapter on Anne's Tumblr

http://annethecatdetective.tumblr.com/post/28967309797/request-fill-for-ponkita

I thought I might share my little find

Now THIS is perfect Sniper/Spy!