Okay, so over in /fanfic, I wrote a sad little story where everybody died. Unless, of course, not everybody died, and those who did not went on a roaring rampage of revenge... Here is that story. ~~~Ch.1~~~ "Stand up." The words sound as if they are coming to him through water. The kick to his arm feels muted. "Come on, stand up." This time, he can hear. This time, he feels his own legs, sore and tingling, but they move when he tells them to. The Spy looks up. Dawn's broken, some time ago, if not too long. The RED Sniper is standing before him, holding the BLU Medic's medigun. He holds out a hand. "Think you can do it?" "I don't understand," The Spy admits, but he takes the hand, and the help. "I drove out after those civilians when they left." The Sniper shrugs. "Just a feeling. The explosion was... Well, bloody fucking hell, it was something, even from as far away as I got. I didn't hold out too much hope, when I drove back this way... But you were breathing." "Why would you help me?" "Don't think there's much reason not to, anymore. And you were breathing... You were the only one. Half my team don't even have bodies anymore. Had to break into your base for this," He hefts the medigun up, the backpack of it dragging along the ground. "Ours was... Well, doesn't matter. You and I need to get out of here." The Spy doesn't argue. Still, before they climb into the Sniper's van, they take as much as they can from the two armories. "Did you have a plan?" The Spy asks, as they drive. "You bet your arse I do. We're going to stay cool about this. Rational. Doesn't help anybody if we can't be. But we're going to find the bastards that thought they could doublecross us." "This is a good plan." Spy smiles. "I like it." "I know how to get to RED's... well, anyway, to the place where they hired me on. From there we can figure out who pushed the button, and I imagine if you can get into their files, you can find out where BLU's corporate HQ is located. A thing like this doesn't happen without both sides knowing about it, and I am more than happy to help you take on your old bosses too." "If you can get me to the building, I can get us both inside, and I can find out anything you want to know." "Good. Then I think the two of us can handle this." Outside the van, the desert landscape skips along. It all looks the same to the Spy, but the Sniper drives with purpose. "Thank you, for saving my life. I... I did not think-- Anyway. It's good to be alive." "Yeah." "So why revenge? Why not just keep driving after the bomb?" "Thought about hiding out and keeping on with my life best I could. But then I got to thinking, if they'd go to that kind of measure to clean up after their war, they might not let me go so easy. Besides... the lack of professional courtesy's a slap in the face." "Mm. I don't take kindly to it, myself. That is a good point... they might not discover survivors, but given time... If you ever went back to working, word might reach their ears." "Reckon." "So much the better, then, to meet them on our terms." The Spy finds himself smiling again, draws the knife from his pocket and plays with it a bit, watching the morning sun flash on the blade. Oh yes... he plans on meeting a great many on his terms... "Put that away before you blind me. I'm trying to drive." The other man snaps. "Fine." He folds it carefully, slips it back into its pocket. Still, he knows it's there, the blade sharp and waiting to be used. "Not like you are going to get us into an accident. What is there to drive into out here?" "Just try not to distract me too much." The Sniper presses the button for the radio. After fiddling with the dial, there is only the fuzzy voice of an excitable man speaking Spanish, or an emergency signal, a calm lady telling the listeners of KKUB not to worry about the little ol' explosion they might have heard from a dummy bomb test... the rest is static. "A 'dummy bomb test'?" The Spy raises an eyebrow. The Sniper turns the radio off. "So much for Country in the Morning." "I would rather listen to the Mexican weather report. I would rather listen to the emergency signal. I would rather be back there and dying, with blood clogging my ears, than listen to any radio program called 'Country in the Morning'." The Sniper just snorts and leaves the radio silent. It's a long drive, but all things considered, neither man minds.
I am liking this a lot and eagerly await more.
I'm looking forward to the next chapter :)
Yes. This feels right, and damn if I am not excited for hot/cold blooded revenge.
Thanks, you guys! ~~~Ch. 2~~~ Watching the horizon feels something like endlessly cresting a single hill, the land too flat for any texture to break the illusion. Or maybe, the Spy considered, it was not an illusion. Maybe the curve of the Earth could be considered to be that single immense hill. From time to time, pillars of earth and stone, red and brown striated, rose from the ground, pillars and arches and great tabletops. Far in the distance, there were cliffs. Sometimes, cacti dotted the roadside. They passed no vehicles. For a long stretch, they drove not down a road but across hard cracked clay. Finally, they reached a real hill, and from the top of the brief rise, from behind a Mann Co. billboard, they could see a vast and shining building. There were no signs. It really didn't need them. "There she is." The Sniper whistles. "Reckon you can get some answers and I can get some satisfaction." "Merde... This is the building where you were hired to work for RED? You are certain of this?" "Of course I'm bloody certain. You see any other places like it? Corporate's the only building they got that doesn't look like a barn. Why?" "Because." The Spy's hands shake as he lights a fresh cigarette. "I could not have found my way there, I did not drive myself, but that is the building where I was hired to work for BLU." "You're kidding." He pulls his scope up and uses it to get a better look at the building, but there's no point in it-- it couldn't be any place else. That was where they'd finished the paperwork, and it wasn't where he'd driven his van from, but it was close enough to where they'd dropped him that he could find his way back, even if they were counting against it. "I thought I wanted revenge." The Spy snorts. "Now I think, I would rather have answers..." "Damn. Yeah. I could use a few answers." Sniper nods. He's liking the whole situation less and less... "We should sleep tonight. Tomorrow I will go down. You will wait for me." "I can--" "No." The Spy stops him. "You would not make it past the front door, not like that." "Yeah. Yeah, reckon. Might not make it through the car park." "Don't worry, mon ami." The Spy grins, baring his teeth, and it's as cruel and nasty as any grin he's ever sent the Sniper's way, but it's different now, with the two of them on the same side. "You will get to have all the fun you want. But it will take a little time, for me to get you inside." "It's not fun so much... It's just... I'm owed this much," "Yes. Your satisfaction. I would not deprive you of it. Do you trust me to get you inside?" "Yeah." He answers, surprised that it's the case, but then again, the Spy has nothing to gain by breaking his word now. "Good. I need to sleep now, I will have to start out very early to get there in time." "In time for what?" "In time. You will see." The Spy promises. He settles into the passenger's seat with his head against the window and closes his eyes. "There's... There's a bed in the back." The Spy's head snaps up. "I thought you would want to use it yourself. Then again, if you wish to stay up for half the night, it will still be yours when I set off." "Nah, nah, mate, we could... It's wide enough for two. I mean, you're skinny enough. You might as well. Unless you snore." "I am a very pleasant person to share a bed with." Spy smiles, a slight and gentle good humour. "Thank you. I don't think I would be very comfortable trying to sleep here..." The bed is not the pinnacle of comfort itself, but it is a bed, and if the two men lie on their sides, back to back, they fit there together with no danger of falling off the edge. In the wee small hours of the morning, the Spy rises and slips out of the camper, to begin the slow trek down to the monolithic building, stop and go, long pauses to allow his cloak to regenerate. The employees' cars are beginning to trickle into the lot when he arrives, and he waits, silent, marks which men exit which vehicles-- disregards the women entirely-- until he finds his mark. When the lot is empty, he slips into the back of the car and makes himself invisible. The wait is long and almost unbearably hot, several moments sweep over him where he thinks he might be overcome, but he shakes it off. There will be time enough later. He needs to be alert when the working day ends. Finally, he hears the click of the driver's side door and the purr of the starting engine. He waits, until they are out, driving alone through the desert, and then he rises, caresses the side of the man's neck with the muzzle of the Ambassador. "Surprise." He whispers. "Wh-What do you want? How did you get in here?!" "Just drive." The Spy orders, presses the muzzle to the man's temple. "If you want to live, you will drive up to that hill, the one with the billboard." "Why do you want--" "Just drive." He repeats, presses in more firmly. The man is not a trained mercenary, and he complies. When they reach the camper van, the Sniper is standing outside, submachine gun in hand. The Spy grins-- how fortunate to wind up with a partner in this venture who could be trusted to be on the right page... "Get out of the car, slowly." The Spy orders. "I wouldn't try anything-- if I do not shoot you, my friend here will." "Took you bloody long enough, Spook." Sniper says. "You have no idea." He rolls his eyes. "All day I was waiting. I feel half-dead. Get him into the van." The Sniper opens the camper door, ushers the man in. "Who do you work for?" He demands, once the three of them are inside, the door closed and locked. "I-- I don't know!" "You don't know? What kind of an idiot do you take me for? Someone pays you." He jabs the barrel of the gun into the man's ribs. "Please... Please, I don't know! I work for the Administrator! I j-just, I just do what she tells me!" The Spy's eyes narrow, and he steps forward, crowding their prisoner. "Describe her." "I-- I-- She--" "If you value your life..." He levels his own gun to the man's temple again. "I don't know! Older! Sh-sh-- she's... sharp. Just... sharp. And-- There's a, a streak... in her hair..." "Sound familiar to you?" The Spy asks. They exchange a glance-- brief, but knowing. It doesn't need to be said, they've suspected as much since they learned about the building. "Get undressed." The Spy orders. "Oh fuck..." "Not at all." He smiles. "Please, keep your underthings on. We only require your suit." Really, the man's only crime-- well, aside from that of his employment-- was that he happened to be the right size. The Sniper hangs the suit up as it's discarded, as best he can in the cramped conditions of the camper van. "Oughta fit." "I have a good eye for these things." "Oh... Oh... Hell..." The man whimpers, as he cowers in his underwear. "You-- You're the mercenaries. You were sup-supposed to, to be-- 'posed to be--" "Dead?" The Spy grins. His eyes slide over to the Sniper. "Do you want to take care of loose ends, or shall I?" "You go ahead. Don't really relish it all that much. I'll have enough to do when we get inside." "Very well. Save your anger for the ones who count." He yanks the now-weeping man back up to his feet. As they exit the camper, he grabs one thing from the armory he and the Sniper had collected there. He puts the entrenching tool into the man's hands. He still holds the Ambassador on him, but with his newly-freed hand he pulls out his balisong. "Come on. You're going to dig." "D-di-- No... No! If you're going to sh-shoot me then shoot me, you can't make me-- make me--" "Dig." The Spy repeats, steely. "You do not understand, monsieur. I will shoot you after you have dug your own grave. If you refuse, I will not shoot you. I will do much, much worse." He plays with the knife and stares the man down. Before long, he can see the headway as the man digs. "You just weren't cut out for the line of work you wound up in." He says, and the apologetic note in his voice sounds almost genuine. "It is this Administrator's fault, isn't it? She put you into this position. How much did you know?" "I didn't..." The man gasps. Night has fallen, and with it bracing cold that evaporates the sweat too quickly from his half-naked body. "I knew th-there were mercen-cenaries, mercenaries... and th-they, Operation-- 'peration P-payload was..." "The bomb, yes. We are well aware." "But I d-didn't know ab-bout you, I'm an accountant!" The man wails. The grave is not deep, eventually animals will come. Still, it is late. It will have to do. The Sniper comes out, after the gunshot, and does the burying. He has no reason not to dirty his own clothes. "He'll get dug up." He says. "He wasn't going to finish digging it." Spy shrugs. "So. Next step in your plan?" "You will put on the suit, drive us down in the morning. I will be invisible, and you will pretend to be an accountant, until we can get someone important enough alone... When the time comes, you have the stomach for anything we have to do?" "Absolutely." For a long moment, they stand there, staring hard into each other's eyes. It's the Spy who throws himself forward, begins the fevered clashing kiss that ends when the Sniper pushes him roughly away. "I don't... That..." "Forget it. I can sleep in the front seat..." "No." The Sniper's hand shoots out, grabs for the Spy's arm. "I didn't mean..." "I thought you might want... It doesn't have to mean anything, but it would help. Too much useless nervousness before a thing like this..." "You can share the bed, just... No funny business, right? You'll be useless to me tomorrow if you're all bent out of shape from sleeping up front." "Oh. Well." The Spy grins. "I would hate to be useless to you." "I meant it, Spook, no funny business. You're not my idea of a calming experience." He chuckles. "Very well. I won't start anything if you don't. But... you kissed back, before you pushed away." Sniper doesn't have a response to that. He rolls over onto his side and tries to ignore the other man. Tomorrow's work is too important, to screw it up with any kind of entanglement tonight...
Anne writes the best stuff on this whole goddamn board.
And this is why you don't fuck with murderous mercenaries *nods sagely* I'm also glad you had Sniper push back Spy. As much as I enjoy Sniper/Spy sexy times, it would be detrimental to the story if two guys started nonchalantly fucking barely a day since they were killing each other as enemies. I don't mind instant hook-ups and flimsy excuses to have sex in PWP fics, but if the story has an actual honest-to-goodness PLOT then the relationship should be developed more realistically. So, basically, I like the story and I'm looking forward to the next chapter :)
Aww, I'm all ablush. Thank you! (And yeah, it was definitely way too early for insta-sex. I mean, geez, Spy, buy a fella flowers first/blow up your mutual enemies together before you try to steal home there.) Also, guys, guys, this is totally the soundtrack of this fic: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dEbE3fGfF-o Quick little chapter time; ~~~Ch. 3~~~ "You are still..." Spy shakes his head. It's too early in the morning, Sniper thinks. He also thinks he should have looked for food and not just weapons, back when they'd looted what they could from their bases. Coffee will only take them so far. "There is not much we can do, but... Sit." Spy orders, rummaging through the Sniper's things. "And just what do you think you're doing?" "I am making you presentable. You are clearly no accountant." He finds the hair fixative and tosses it over. "There's a start. Do you not own a razor?" "Nope." Sniper can't help a little smug smirk. "Not a lot of room in my life for something that's only got one function. Kukri, on the other hand, does everything." He does not care to translate the things the Spy mutters under his breath. Still, eventually Spy digs out his shaving brush and a cake of soap. He takes one of his own knives-- not the balisong, but one with a fine, flat edge. "Oh, no. I'm not letting you near my throat with that." "I have a steady hand." Spy puffs on his cigarette and manages to look put out and contemptuous all at once. "You have no mirror." "The van's got mirrors. I'll shave in the front seat. Done it before." "And how clean are your results, hien? As I thought." Sniper grits his teeth, but allows it. The Spy removes his gloves to apply the hair fixative, wipes them on one of the Sniper's discarded undershirts after. "Do I look like an accountant yet?" Spy shrugs. "You can say you were out late drinking last night." "Great. An alkie accountant. My mum would be so proud..." He snorts. "No, you... You look... handsome." Spy allows, glancing away to the door. "Come on. We should go. His attache is in the car, you can't take your rifle, but the submachine gun, it will fit." Sniper wears the stolen suit and drives the stolen car. He pulls in at the far end of the car park, where no one will see him letting an invisible man out of the passenger's side. "Into the lions' den, mon ami." Spy whispers. Sniper nods. The attache case has his gun-- he prefers his rifle, but on this particular mission, or at least this leg of it, the submachine gun's a better fit and he knows it. He has his kukri strapped to himself under the suit jacket. He doesn't know what the Spy's packing, but he's sure it's plenty. Inside the building, he tries to blend in, follows the tide of suits about and scans the signs on the walls for clues as to where he ought to be. Nobody recognizes him, but nobody is surprised to see someone they don't recognize, either. He sees a sign that says 'Administration'. He goes for it. As he passes through one department, he snags a stack of papers from somebody's inbox and keeps walking. It doesn't matter what's on the papers, so long as he has them. When he reaches Administration, there's a perky blonde in a gray dress manning a large desk, and three doors behind her. One looks like nothing more than a storage closet, but either of the others could be The Administrator, and either way he needs to make it past reception. "I've got a problem, sweetheart." He says, trying his best to sound like a harried accountant. The type of man, he decides, who calls secretaries 'sweetheart'. He hopes not to have much attention paid him. "And I need to see the Administrator about it." "I'm afraid that's not possible." She smiles sweetly, not really seeing him. "No, you don't understand, this is a major... Disastrous... She's gonna want to know about this!" "I know the trade show's not for another week and a half, but she's not here. I think she took her vacation before the show? I mean, it's the first time she's ever had one, basically." His stomach condenses itself into a cold little ball. The woman drops a bomb on him-- well, tries to-- and doesn't even have the good grace to be there? "Listen, if it's a real big problem, just... Door on the left, all right, hon? It's as good as you're gonna get all month." He moves mechanically. He's come this far, he can't not go through now that he's made such a big fuss. Besides, couldn't he still get answers? It wouldn't be the Administrator, but it would be someone close enough. He squeezes the handle of the attache case, tucks the sheaf of papers under his arm, and opens the door.
Ooo they got a good plan! Kinda feel sorry for the accountant though.
Oooh. I have a feeling it's gonna be Miss Pauling. I feel bad for her but, well, she didn't try to stop anything (as far as we know.) I mean even if she protested she would have likely given in eventually, as she did with War! Hopefully it won't be too terrible a death. I'm loving this story so far. Vengeance shall be theirs! I hope...
Thanks! And don't feel too too bad for Miss Pauling just yet... ~~~Ch. 4~~~ He's surprised by the presence of Miss Pauling. There's a long moment where he's aware of everything but unable to force himself to move, and he thinks, he really should have been expecting to find her there. What happens is this; Sniper stops short within the lefthand office, halfway between the desk and the door. Miss Pauling looks up. He recognizes her first, but not by long. The door snicks shut softly behind him. The basic ability to move returns to him, he opens the attache case. She reaches into the top drawer of her desk. Her gun is aimed for his heart before he can bring the submachine gun out. It feels like a very ignoble end to what was supposed to be a long bloody campaign. A part of him starts to regret giving up his last chance for sex. He has time to think all that, but his mind is reeling fast. "Mr. Mundy, I don't know what you're doing here," She begins, coming around the desk. Her hand is steady and she does not come within arms reach of him. He has time to think about that, too, the hopelessness of trying to take her from that distance, and he wishes her office had been smaller. "I'll tell you what he's doing here," The Spy's voice cuts in, Miss Pauling's arm twists up as he appears, one hand locked around her wrist, the other holding his own gun to her temple. "Cheers..." Sniper takes her gun, smiles weakly at the Spy. "I can't believe you left the door open. You were just going to let the secretary witness you blowing her brains out?" Spy snaps. "I didn't think it'd be someone I'd met. There was a moment of surprise. She recognized me." He argues back. "The Administrator would have recognized you, were she here." Spy points out. "What then?" "She wasn't here." "Find something we can use to tie this one up." Spy forces Miss Pauling back into her chair, but keeps it pushed back from the desk. "Ah, I'm afraid not, cherie. I saw the security call button. If you had only used that, instead of going for your own weapon instead, this whole story might have a different end." Sniper discards the phone cord as an option, but he finds duct tape in one of the desk drawers. "Information." Spy barks. "Anything you have, if you value your skin. Who sold us out? Was it the Administrator? With what accomplices?" "I don't know where she is." "But you know she is to blame." He grabs her chin and forces her to meet his gaze. "You know what she has done, to our respective teammates." "A-are you the only survivors?" "Don't think you're in much position to be asking." Sniper laughs. Spy stares her down a moment more. "Yes." He says at last. "The others are all dead." "Oh." Her voice is soft. She tries to look away. "Congratulations." He sneers. "You are as successful and hardened a killer as either of us, now. And so many in one blow." "I didn't--" She looks back up. "You don't understand, you can't argue with her! I... I had... I had kind of a soft spot, for... Well, it doesn't matter. I don't know where she is." "No." Sniper lifts a flier off the desk. "But I know where she'll be." "The mysterious trade show your secretary friend mentioned to you?" Spy smirks. "Yeah. You followed me the whole time?" "At a bit of a distance. Stop and go." "Mann Co. Trade Show." Sniper reads. "A solid week of blowing things up and a dangerously unsafe barbecue for our most valuable buyers. And we've got just about two and a half weeks to get there if she plans on staying through the whole shindig." "Do you really think it will take that long?" "Nah. If we fly, we'll need a couple days to get to a city with a major airport, and we'll spend the best part of a day in the air. Course, I don't know about you, but I'd like to add a little time into our schedule to see a Mann about a bomb." "Keep an eye on this one, then." Spy jerks his head towards Miss Pauling, waits for the Sniper to draw his gun on her before he goes to the desk, to her rolodex. From there, it is the work of moments to memorize locations for the Mann brothers. "Don't know how we're gonna get out of the building, mate." "I think... very much depends on what our dear Mademoiselle decides." "Some decision." She snorts. "Do not turn your nose up at my charity, cherie. You do not have to die today, if you can help us instead." "Help you? Why would I help you?" "If living is not a good enough reason for you? Then because we are perhaps the lesser of the evils. I know, it's new to me as well. You are not loyal to this madwoman, are you?" She looks away again. "You don't understand." "Try me." "You couldn't understand! You'll never know what it's like, no one's ever tried to stop you--" "Try again." Spy cuts her off, grabbing her chin once more. "Your Administrator dropped a bomb on me. You will have to excuse me for taking it all a bit personally. It was not pretty. I have half a mind to drag you back there and show you the men who were not lucky enough to survive." "There aren't a lot of opportunities for girls like me." She measures her words carefully. "For a girl who likes guns and knows how to shoot them? And I couldn't get work for either of the Mann brothers, but Hel-- but the Ad-- But she took me in. She gave me a place. Sure, some of it was always paperwork, but... but it wasn't just paperwork. Some of it was fun. At least I got to be involved. Sometimes I get to go to the trade shows..." "Will you be attending this coming show?" "I was going to meet her there. I... I've been wondering if I should. I didn't like the bomb, but... You can't argue with her." "No, I imagine if you do, she drops bombs on you." "Please," Miss Pauling winces. "I... It wasn't up to me. I'm sorry about what happened, but I can't help you." "A pity." Spy draws his knife out. He makes a show of polishing the blade with a handkerchief. "You can take my pass to the Mann Co. trade show." She offers quickly. "There's only one, but-- You could take it. You could go. No one has to know you were here." "I have never needed a pass to gain access to any place." Spy smiles at her. "One pass will be sufficient. If you can escort us unseen from this building, perhaps we will even be able to leave you alive someplace." "The secret elevator?" The two men exchange a quick grin. "You'll have to let me up." She reminds them. "And my pass for the trade show is in the top right drawer." "The gun drawer?" Spy picks her revolver off the floor and puts it back in its place, snatching up the pass as he does so. Sniper pulls out his kukri, slicing through the duct tape, one hand firm on her arm. "Behind the file cabinet." She nods. Sniper passes her off to the Spy and pushes against the large file cabinet. It slides far more easily than he'd expected, revealing a door. The space he'd assumed to be a storage closet opened onto both offices and into the reception area, with two buttons on one wall. 'Up' and 'Down'. "We're already up." He shrugs, pressing for 'Down'. The secret elevator shudders to life. They emerge at the bottom into an underground parking structure that he hadn't even seen from the car park above. There is a bank of sleek black vehicles, and Spy opens one. With a little adjusting, he has it running. The Sniper bundles Miss Pauling into the back and stays there to keep hold of her arm, to keep the submachine gun trained on her. Spy drives them out of the garage. They emerge on the other side of a high mesa, but the ground around them is flat and hard enough to wheel around, ignoring the road in favor of driving over the cracked playa until the Mann Co. billboard comes into view and he can head for it. Out behind the billboard and the van, coyotes are working at the buried accountant, one leg unearthed. "Get off!" Sniper aims a kick at one, sends them both skittering off to slink behind the cacti and wait for the humans to leave. Miss Pauling does not react to the dead man in the least. "Wait here with her." Sniper says. "What are you going to do?" "Finish some business." He opens the back of the camper and starts loading the cache of explosives they'd taken from the bases into their most recently stolen car. "Alone?" "Too risky all three of us going back down. And I'm not exactly an expert... Better if you hang back. That way at least one of us can go after everyone else on the list, if I muck it up. I mean, if you are an expert, tell me now, and I'll stay up here and guard the girl while you take out the building." "... How difficult do you think it would be?" Spy looks skeptically over the explosives. Not many... only what had been safe in basements, everything else blowing when the bomb had hit. "Dunno. Probably a matter of timing." "Well, careful, if you don't want to come back missing an eye." Spy jokes. "I hear it is an occupational hazard." Miss Pauling sniffs at that. Spy turns his attention more fully on her, watches her cast around for possible escape and dismiss the ideas. In the end, he piles into the front of the van with her to wait. He lets her fuss with the radio, though he insists her hands remain folded in her lap the rest of the time. She even manages to bring a station in that isn't too terrible to listen to. "Are you two friends?" She asks him. "The Sniper and I? We... we are allies. We are allies because of your bomb." "Oh. I wish you wouldn't call it 'my' bomb." "I wish it had not been dropped on me." He shrugs, tone bland and even. She looks down at her folded hands. He holds few illusions if any, she is thinking about getting her hands on a gun and getting away, but she is not foolish enough to try it, at least. Not so long as he is wary, and he has spent his whole life perfecting wariness. They don't talk further, just listen to the radio as they wait for the explosion, and the Sniper.
To be honest, I'm hoping they do kill Miss Pauling. Yes, she couldn't have done anything to stop the Administrator, but she could have at least stopped enabling her by stopping working for her. Yes, women 40 years ago had a MUCH harder time being taken seriously as combatants and Miss Pauling probably wouldn't have been able to find another satisfying job ("probably" being the key word here: as Nancy Grace proved, some women did manage to find a place in the army, it wasn't impossible), but "it's my dream job!" doesn't justify betraying and murdering your employers. If they have already killed a mere accountant, a small fry, and are going to kill a whole building of them, then she should die too. Surely the Big Bad's right-hand woman deserves that fate 100 times more than, say, the mail boy. I actually like Miss Pauling as a character, but fair is fair.
I wish posts could be edited. employers -> employees Nancy Grace -> Nancy Wake
I like where this is going. I did not read the fic this is related to (I should probably not spend all my time afanfic and NOWHERE ELSE) but I am thinking about venturing over there, at least for this.
Thanks! (And she does not get off that easy... she's just a presence for a little while longer. I didn't mean for her argument to sway audience sympathy to her side, particularly in the face of 'you dropped a bomb on us') ~~~Ch. 5~~~ Eventually, the car roars back up the hill, pulling in behind the camper van in the moment before the building below blows. The billboard is hit with far-flung debris. Miss Pauling's eyes widen, but aside from that, she betrays no shock or emotion. Spy merely blows out a lungful of smoke and opens his car door, stepping out to meet the Sniper. "I see you managed to figure it out." "Had to set the timer short. Only brought half the place down, but that's enough. I don't care about killing everybody in there, I care about making sure there's not enough to rebuild an empire. Once we take care of the Administrator and both the Manns, won't be anyone able to pick up whatever pieces we do leave." "If you have rope in the back, I suggest you bring it up front. I don't trust the girl." She glares balefully at him and he makes a show of simultaneously ignoring and keeping an eye on her. "How long do you plan on keeping her around?" Sniper whispers. "Until I am sure she can be of no more use. And... Rope first. Once she is immobile, we can speak privately. Out of earshot, but... where I can still see her, using the side-view mirror, I think." Sniper disappears around the back of the camper and Spy leans against the open door of the van and watches her, a surface of bland disinterest over eyes that take in every twitch and microexpression and a mind that extrapolates from there any move she might make against him. He holds the Ambassador on her, his posture casual but the grip of his hand on the gun an unmistakable warning. Once Spy is satisfied with the job the Sniper has done of securing her, he leads the other man to the rear of the van, though not all the way around the back. True to his word, he stays where he can see her reflection. Her hands are bound up in front of her, no longer in her lap but high enough that he can see them at all times, even in the mirror. He has not left anything dangerous within easy reach of her, but it has never paid to underestimate a foe. "All right, what did you need to talk to me about?" "I have examined the pass, while we waited for your return. There is no name on it. I think, as she said, it will be no problem to transfer it to you, you should not even be questioned until it is too late. But... she may facilitate our entry, with one or both of the Mann brothers. Unless you have a plan?" "Had a plan, yeah." The Sniper nods. "I was just gonna shoot the bastard. They're at least a hundred, they don't need any speeches about what they done wrong, they're probably senile. Could be just pawns themselves at this point." "Non... I have seen a little too much, to think this is the solution. The Manns are well over elderly. They are effectively immortal. It is not exactly respawn. I do not quite understand it myself. I had taken the liberty of pawing through our Engineer's notes once... If a machine like that is what keeps Blutarch Mann alive, then some similar mechanism must prolong the life of his twin. You could shoot him in the head, he could still come back." "Dammit, why do these things have to get complicated with you?" "With me?" Spy raises an eyebrow. "Monsieur, I am not the one complicating them. Imagine how much more complicated, had I not been here to inform you. The man could have woken from his unpleasant bullet-to-the-head incident and called for armed guards to find the sniper on his property." Sniper bites his lip and glances away. "Sure. Great." "Is there something else I'm complicating?" Spy smiles slyly. He can't appreciate the full effect, one eye still firmly fixed on the side-view mirror and the sulking reflection of Miss Pauling therein. "Keeping the girl around." "She is a complicated woman... Some of her remorse is genuine, but... Some is not enough for me. I will admit it, I am angry. And whoever she felt remorse for, she held no such regard for me. I do not think she holds much for you, either." "Don't expect her to. Gave her a lift out to the base once, but we didn't much get to know each other. I just don't like relying on someone I can't trust." "Then I will get us in myself." "Good." Sniper nods. "You trust me." Spy smiles. "Told you before, no more reason not to." He shrugs. "Vultures are already circling, you want to leave her here." "No. I want to take her to Badwater. I want her to make her excuses in front of the dead." "Most of them didn't leave corpses, mate." "I hope whoever it is she has those warm feelings for is one who did." He lets out a mirthless chuckle. "Not that any of them were what you would call recognizable." "We should get a move on. Won't make it there before it's too dark, but we can give the grand tour first thing in the morning." "We cannot sleep in the back. I won't leave her alone in the front, and I wouldn't trust her anywhere near where we keep the weaponry." "Shifts, then." Sniper says, with a decisive nod. He slaps Spy on the shoulder and walks around to the driver side. Spy returns to his own seat, pushing Miss Pauling back in towards the middle. "We're going for a little ride." He snarls at her. "In the morning, you will have to tell me how you like the scenery." Sniper just drives, backing out over the half-buried and gnawed upon accountant, skirting the billboard, and making his way back towards the place where it all started. With the van and the humans gone, the coyotes return, the vultures touch down. In the half of the building settled back into the north face of one of the desert's great stone tables, there are other accountants, other secretaries, other civilians who pick themselves up as best they can, and think of career changes as they look out at the desert through the open air that used to be shared office space.
~~~Ch. 6~~~ They drive on, the horizon ever out of reach and the sun setting red in the distance. The silence is interrupted by Miss Pauling's cough. "What?" Sniper glares at her out of the corner of his eye. "Well, are we going to be getting to whatever destination you have in mind soon? Barring that a service station?" He laughs. "Sweetheart, nothing of the sort's even out here. Get there in the morning." "I can't exactly wait until morning." "Too bad. We don't control time or distance here." "I mean," She stresses. "I can't wait until morning." "For wh-- Oh. Fine." Sniper sighs. "Spy, reach under your seat for me, grab what you find." Spy doubles over awkwardly to rummage under the seat, all while keeping Pauling under close observation. He comes up with an empty jar. He drops it again with a yelp of revulsion and it rolls back. "You'd have to untie me," Miss Pauling points out. "And I'd really prefer a little privacy. Honestly, if you pull over I can... go behind a... cactus, or something." "Yeah. Right. We're going to untie you and then turn our backs." Sniper laughs. "I wasn't born yesterday. Spy can help you." "I most certainly can not!" He shouts. "As much as I hate to agree with one of the madmen holding me hostage, he really can't!" She shrieks. "Sure he can. Pretty sure he's a pooftah, he won't peek." "Pas question! I am not holding a jar while some woman pisses into it." Spy snarls. "And-- maybe the hospital shouldn't mock charity." "Whatever. Look, can you hold it or not, because you are absolutely not getting untied and you are absolutely not pissing on the seat." She chews her lip a moment in deliberation. "I'll wait." "Good." Spy glares at her and the Sniper both. "Hospital mocking charity. Don't even know what that means." Sniper grumbles. "It means you had your tongue in my mouth, so don't you go calling me names." Sniper blanches. Miss Pauling laughs, until the combined force of both mercenaries glaring at her reminds her of her predicament. Well, being tied up and at the mercy of two men who kill for profit-- and possibly for fun-- is not an ideal situation, but at least, she decides, if they've been kissing each other, there's probably one thing she doesn't have to worry about. After night falls, Sniper pulls the van into park and clambers out. He can feel each vertebrae in his back pop when he stretches. The Spy meets him out in front, arms folded, one eye on the woman still in the front seat. "All things considered, perhaps I should apologize, if I have embarrassed you in front of our guest..." "Nah, mate. 'S fine. Who's she gonna tell?" "Nobody." Spy chuckles. "She won't live long enough. Still, the last thing we need now is to fight with each other." "Yeah, well. That's the case, I should apologize, too. Started it." "That is fine. I am. I make no particular secret of it. But as you are the one who routinely keeps jars full of urine, you are the one who will be handling any jars full of urine, and I do not care whose they are." "Ah, she said she could wait. Anyway, won't be long come morning." "Mm. I half-suspect it was a lie, anyway. Take the first shift sleeping." "You sure? You been watching her longer." He smiles. "Yes, because you were demolishing a building. I can stay awake, I am not so tired. Besides, you drove. And you look weary." Sniper shrugs. "Always do. But I can go without sleep fine. Wake me up when you need a turn, then." He claps the Spy on the shoulder and heads back to the camper. Spy watches him go, before returning to the cab and climbing back in. "So did he really french you?" Miss Pauling asks, when he is settled in his seat. "Did he what?" "Kiss you. With tongue." "Oh. I suppose. It was a mutual action. Why do you care?" She looks out the window. "I figure when we get where we're going... I mean, I figure... Anyway, I thought I might as well hear something interesting before I hit the end of the line." He gives her a small push and she tips over to lie on her side across most of the bench seat, her legs tucked up awkwardly. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow will be interesting enough for you, I am sure."
Another great chapter. I really enjoyed the dialogue, it was funny and lighthearted while still bringing up the seriousness of the situation. And the exchange of apologies is good development for the relationship, they are getting closer in a realistic way. One note, though. It has been three whole days since the explosions, and they haven't eaten anything since then. Even if they are though men, it's hard to buy that they are still so lucid, I'd think at least Sniper would pass out from having to keep driving all day long on such a terribly empty stomach. Can't you slip in a mention that Sniper bought some food before going back to the van after blowing up the building? It wouldn't take him more than a few minutes to do that, and it would handwave the problem of starvation.
Really enjoying the ride here.
Dunno how to keep telling Anne she's wonderful, but jesus christ. I want...I want to unite with her in some way. Form some sort of cadre. Not a sex thing, you understand. Just, have her nearby with a typewriter, so fresh pages fall directly into my hands.
>>17 D'oh! Just now realizing that a late edit didn't actually get itself saved into the story. Yeah, there was supposed to be a food mention. Thanks for catching that, I can slip it in a little late. And thanks for the encouragement/praise, all! (I am open to being part of a typewriter cadre... though the Internet is probably so much easier... still, the words flow so nicely... 'Typewriter Cadre'. It would be a good name for a rock band.) ~~~Ch. 7~~~ A sharp rap on the window keeps Spy from dropping off into sleep himself, after some long hours of watching Miss Pauling. He feels supremely grateful to finally climb out of the cab, to stretch out the kinks and head back into the camper, the promise of sleep a sweet pull. The Sniper presses something into his hand, something he can't quite process for a moment. "Conference room bagel." Sniper says. "Got it from a conference room. Seemed like a waste to blow up good food. Eat, then sleep." Spy's stomach growls, and he tears into it. "You could not have given me this hours ago?" He asks, mouth full. "Excitement. I forgot. Hope you don't mind it's been in my pocket all day." He pats his vest. Under less dire circumstances, the Spy might have, but by all rights he never should have survived hiding in the back of the accountant's car. By all rights he never should have survived the bomb. A stale bagel out of a vest pocket didn't seem worth complaining over. "Thank you." "Get some rest." Spy lingers a moment outside the van while he eats-- no reason to part company until he's done, anyway. In the end, though, he can think of nothing to say. He heads back into the camper, barely manages to toe off his shoes before collapsing onto the bed, and once he is there, it is not long before he's asleep. In the front, Sniper shifts Miss Pauling over to the passenger's side. "What--?" "Go back to sleep." He shakes his head. "Changing of the guard, that's all." She drifts off again, his watch is quiet. When dawn breaks, he leaves her sleeping and goes to wake the Spy. "Hitting the road. Catch a few more winks, you need to." "No. I'm fine. I'll ride up front, you cannot watch the girl and drive all at once." "Long as she's been tied up, her hands'll be numb, but suit yourself." Spy hops down from the back of the camper, then leans forward, catching the Sniper before he can return to the cab. "I appreciate the offer. I would rather ride up front, just... I appreciate everything." This time, the kiss is nothing passionate, it's not even full on the other man's mouth. This time, he is not pushed away. They part and move to climb into their own seats with no words spoken, but there was no formal censure on the topic. They reach Badwater in a couple hours. The sun is still low in the sky, and all three of them are still tired, still hungry. Spy pulls Miss Pauling out of the van, and Sniper cuts the rope and gives her a slight shove forward. The two of them have their weapons in hand, as they walk her through the bomb's aftermath, but there's less urgency to their guardedness. Her legs are cramped and her hands are numb, and when they find the RED Medic and the Heavy, the horror sinks in and she sHipstr back. They follow her as she tries to put more distance between herself and the blackened, fused bodies in the backway. When she finds the silhouettes on the wall, she gasps and drops to her knees. "Yes. I told you it would not be pretty." Spy plays with his Ambassador a moment. "I can-- I can recognize them..." She reaches her hand towards one shadow. "Oh... oh..." "You helped this to happen." "No..." "You didn't stop it." Sniper shrugs. "I--" She turns. "I'm really not... not leaving here, am I?" "That depends. I do not pretend to know what there is, after death. Maybe you will go somewhere else. It will probably not be so different. More fire and brimstone, maybe. And once you arrive, you are free to save a seat for us, I do not cast myself as a pure hero, Mademoiselle." She squares her shoulders. "Do it, then." "Ah, so brave. I thought you might try to run." "I can't run, you bastard. You know I can't run." She stays on her knees, and her calm acceptance is spoiled by a harsh glare. "After last night, you know I can't... I was never going to be able to... So if you wanted to try to chase me down, too bad. It's too late to play that game." Spy turns to the Sniper. "Yours or mine? I can, if you have a problem with someone you know." "Not well. I didn't say I knew her well. You did the last one." His hand brushes across the Spy's, covering for a moment his grip on the Ambassador. "D'you mind? SMG's for shit." "And you would rather not take a five mile hike." Spy chuckles, but after a moment their hands are still touching and his amusement fades in the presence of a quiet electricity. "Mais oui. She handles like a dream, by all means try it out." "Thanks." Sniper nods, his mouth dry. The Spy releases his revolver into the Sniper's hold and steps back. He watches hungrily, though, as the Sniper pulls the trigger, his eyes not on the woman, but on the way the other man's hand curves around the grip of his favourite gun, the way one finger strokes the trigger guard, and the way he tests the weight a second time after firing. "Yeah." He hands it back. "Beaut all right. Thanks." "Anytime. As long as we are on this venture together, what is mine is yours, is it not?" "Sure." "Perhaps sometime you can show me how to handle your rifle." "Never know when it might come in handy." Sniper allows. It feels like they're talking about something else, and his brain won't quite make the switch. He can't quite put the last kiss out of his mind, the way it was completely different from the first, and the way some part of him reacted just the same. The part that didn't want him pushing the Spy away. He normally didn't give much attention to that part of himself, it said the kind of things that only got a bloke in trouble. Still, not listening wasn't the same as having nothing to listen to. They step over the fallen Miss Pauling and into the RED base, this time looking for food, not for firepower. The power has gone, and nothing from the refrigerator is worth looking at, but there are unopened loaves of bread, an economy-sized jar of peanut butter... they take the canned foods and some of the cutlery, just enough dishes. Only what foods will need little to no preparation, the rest is left behind. The Sniper drives out an hour towards the nearest Mann brother, but they stop after a while to eat and to catch up on sleep. "Rather give the van a rest while it's hot as it's gonna get. Don't want to get fried out, 's happened to me before." "And yet you still drive the thing." Spy shakes his head, but he smiles, as they climb into the back. He starts putting sandwiches together. "Nah, that was before I got her. Far as I know, the old one never ran again. Far as I know, the old one's sitting out in the desert still." "Lovely." "Ah, this van's never broken down on me. She'll be right. Besides, could use another couple hours sleep before I drive any further." "I am not arguing." Spy passes one of the sandwiches over and hangs his blazer over the back of his chair. Sniper strips out of the suit he'd worn since infiltrating the big office building, only once he's all but naked does he realize the other man is watching. Spy coughs and looks down. "My apologies." "Whatever." He pulls an old pair of jeans out from under the bed and puts them on, sandwich between his teeth as he dresses. He flops back onto the bed to eat, and when he finishes, he makes room for the Spy. "Just... keep on your side and it's fine." "Of course." Spy finishes, digs a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at his mouth, and settles himself at the very edge of the bed. When evening falls, he wakes up to find himself lying on his other side, with his arm resting against the Sniper's back. The moment is comfortable and he closes his eyes and evens his breathing. The Sniper can push him off when he wakes, and think he was the first to do so. Until then... until then, Spy reasons, he is still mostly on his half of the mattress.
I like the end of this chapter a lot.
Thank you! ~~~Ch. 8~~~ At some point, Spy realizes, he must have drifted off. When he wakes again, the Sniper is no longer in bed, the van is moving. He does what he can, with the vehicle in motion, to organize their weapons cache more neatly, to straighten up, hang the discarded suit from the discarded accountant so it won't accumulate more wrinkles. Mostly, he tries to feel useful, busy. Eventually, the van comes to a stop, and the camper door swings open. "You should have woken me." He says, as the Sniper climbs in. "Wasn't driving long. Figured I could get a little distance in while you slept. No fighting over the radio that way." "Well. Brunch?" "'S what I came back here for." Sniper picks up one of the cans. "Peaches?" "Yes, kitten?" Spy arches a brow. "Don't get cute. Do you want any or not?" "I'll get the dishes. How are we planning to wash them, by the way?" "Well, we're not." Sniper laughs. "Don't carry near enough water to waste any on washing up. Dunno, if you don't want 'em drawing flies, guess we just toss 'em out... I mean, not like you're living like this forever, anyway." "I should think not. We can both move on once everything is settled." Spy passes two small bowls over. "Right. Like I said, you're not living like this forever." "You're going back to it?" "Dunno. This or something like it." "Oh." Spy nods, spends a moment just staring down at his canned fruit when the bowl is passed back. "You enjoy that sort of life, then... of course, why wouldn't you? You didn't decide to live in a van because you hated it..." "So what'll you go on to?" "I have not yet planned too far. I do not even know whether I plan to retire or not. There is always corporate espionage, but... I have some money put away, I may give it all up to... To I don't know what. What does it matter? I am officially on borrowed time now, aren't I? I could do anything." "Yeah, we both are that." "We are heading for Redmond Mann first?" "Closest, yeah." "Very well. Disguises, then? Something has to get us through the door. Shall we say you were dispatched from one of RED's business concerns?" "Business concerns?" "One of the mining companies. You won't need another shave and we won't have to worry about the suit... you can throw the wrinkled blazer on over your work shirt, it will hide the patch on the arm. Say what I tell you to say, I will be right behind you." "Shouldn't be comforting." Sniper chuckles. "But under the circumstances, I'll take it." "I'm on your side. Maybe for the first time... normally I am on nobody's but my own." Spy admits. "No one will see me. When we get into the room with him, I will take out the machine that keeps him alive. Then, he will be yours. I do not know how many will be in the house..." "Hide the kukri under the jacket again, then, it'll be quieter. And if we have to fight our way out, well... I think we can take 'em." "I don't suppose--" Spy begins, stops himself. "Well. It is unimportant." "What?" "I just wanted to offer... For luck, or... Anyway, you were plain enough the first time, there is no point in it. I suppose I just have a weakness for men who are plotting murder." "I've got a van to drive." Sniper opens the back of the camper and tosses the empty can and his bowl out into the desert. "But I guess it's good to know..." Spy follows him out, tossing his own bowl off after a moment. "I feel terribly wasteful doing that..." "Less a waste than trying to wash 'em. It'll be fine. No one was gonna use 'em if we hadn't taken 'em with us anyway." They climb into the front, and Spy watches the landscape begin to zip along, barren and golden brown. "I had little growing up." He admits. "I suppose that must be why... I hide it well. I cultivated quite an appreciation for the finest things in life. Anyway, now you know something about me." "Grew up in a mining town, actually." Sniper offers, eyes on the ground ahead, a road only he can see. "Outside Adelaide." "Perfect. Then you will know more about it than I. It might come in handy, if they think to test you." "Well, my folks weren't miners, but... I guess I can come up with enough to get past the maid. Be honest, much as I feel like it needs to be done, at this point, I'm looking forward to the Administrator a lot more'n I am to Mann." "Indeed. She seems to be a better candidate, for answers." "But I been thinking, and it might not be so easy to get to her." "If she finds out about the building, she will have her guard up." Spy sighs. "But with the disappearance of one of her top employees, she might have gotten ill news without our blowing the building. I would not worry over it." "Not that. The trade show. Don't know how many people'll be there, and with who knows how much firepower... and if she's smart, she'll stick herself to the head honcho the minute she smells danger. And I don't know how the hell we're gonna get past Saxton Hale, if it comes to that." "We will manage. We need to. For now, focus on Redmond Mann. You will be a man sent from the mining company. We will get in, sap the machine, kill the old man, and get out. Simple. Satisfying. Just think about that." Sniper tries. It will be satisfying, if not half so satisfying as some answers from the damn woman at the middle of it all. And compared to the rest, maybe it will be that easy. Still, he can't help thinking about the potential minefield at the Mann Co. trade show, he can't help worrying about what they may have to face off against there. He can't help thinking about the half-made offer or the way the Spy sometimes looks at him, waking up comfortable in the same bed as someone else... the fact that he also has a weakness for a man who can plot a good murder. He wishes he could forget about that one, but the promise keeps teasing at the edges of his brain. He could have the Spy any time he wanted, in all this. He just knows he's not supposed to want it. The trust is the worst part. He could handle it all if he still felt cagey about turning his back on the other man, but with no more reason for enmity, the Spy's the closest thing to a friend he has left in the world. Hell, they talked about their childhoods. Maybe it wasn't much and maybe it wasn't true, but it was more than he'd told most of his own teammates, back before they'd all been blown to nothing. And he was telling the truth, even if the Spy wasn't. He thinks the Spy was, though. It made enough sense, and it would have been easier to say nothing than to make up a past. He wants to trace a line back to the point where they decided it was all right to be honest with each other about things, but he's afraid of what he'd find. Trust and honesty are bad enough, he might find fondness in that mess, and he can't afford to feel all that. He's celibate for a reason. Besides, he doesn't even know what the man's face looks like. A man has to draw a line somewhere, and if he was going to have sex with men whose faces he'd never properly seen, then there were a half-dozen tearooms he could have traded in across the vast country of his past, and he passed up on all of those.
Really enjoying this - it's so very well written. Love how you're taking it slow with Sniper and Spy too. Teasing is GOOD.
It's amazing how you can keep writing a new chapter of multiple stories every day while still making them so enjoyable. Quality AND quantity! Very impressive.
I think my only small gripe is that they didn't need to take the peaches out of the can first in order to eat them. Admittedly, it is perhaps like "double-dipping" a chip, even if they used separate spoons to eat out of the same can, and it might be a little harder to accurately split the quantity in half but it'd mean going through fewer bowls. Not to mention, a spoon can be licked clean enough to keep flies off of it. It might not be as sanitary afterward but it is a bit less wasteful IMHO. Other than that, I like the story overall. The slow build-up and the plan to kill everyone involved in the deaths is great. I was also pleased with how straightforward they were about Miss Pauling's death. After all, they are trained killers and have been for some time. The way it happened was a little jarring at first but pretty accurate, I think.
Just found this and OH BOY is this incredible!
Thanks, all! I can but try and do my best. ~~~Ch. 9~~~ They parked up the road and around the corner from the rambling and ramshackle manor where Redmond Mann clung to life. They make their approach on foot. Sniper wears his old work clothes, sans vest, and with the addition of the stolen blazer and tie. The tie had been the matter of some little debate, but in the end they agreed it lent a little professionalism. He was meant to be a man who worked for the Sunset Valley Mining concern, but he wasn't meant to be a miner, after all. An overseer of some sort, something managerial. The tie helped. So did the attache case, his submachine gun still inside, in case they really needed to fight their way out. He hoped they wouldn't-- at least, that he wouldn't have to rely on it-- but he didn't count a firefight out. At least if it happened, the Spy would be backing him up. He pauses in front of the door, until he can feel the other man behind him. Hates to think he might get in before the Spy caught up to him and spoil everything. "Your name is Willard Johnston." Spy whispers. "You have brought some figures for Mr. Mann's approval. No need to overthink it, I am behind you. They will let us in. If they do not, I will let us in." "Glad you have a backup plan." He hisses through clenched teeth, before lifting his hand to knock at the door. The woman who answers the door takes him right up, and ushers him into the old man's office. Then she's gone. "Mr. Mann." Sniper doffs his hat. Behind him he can hear the door locking. "I know what your maid or your nurse or whoever told you. But I'm not Willard Johnston from Sunset Valley Mining." "No..." Mann squints at him. "I thought Johnston was fat." The machine hooked into the old man crackles, a small fire bursts into life in the wiring. "My name's Mundy." Sniper strides forward. He shoves the desk aside. It's heavy and wooden and doesn't move easy, but he shifts it enough. "I worked for you. One of your mercenaries. You dropped a bomb on us, you and your brother." The old man is already clutching at his chest and gasping, with the machine out of operation, his body is failing him fast. Sniper pulls out his kukri and stabs it into Mann's gut anyway. "Technically, the bomb did not fall on you." Spy appears, leaning against the wall and puffing at his cigarette in a perfect picture of nonchalance. "Yeah, well, I was starting to get along pretty well with some of the blokes it did drop on." He twists the kukri, but it makes little difference. Redmond Mann's death is anticlimactic. He wipes his blade on the old man's sleeve before tucking it back into its sheath under the blazer. The fire from the sapped machine is spreading, tongues of flame seeking out the heavy curtains. "We should go." "Probably." Spy smirks, crossing the room to unlock the door. He vanishes even as he pulls it open. They leave without alerting the woman, but from up the drive they can hear the screams begin. "If she's smart, she will get out of the house." Sniper laughs. "Yeah. Call the cops from the neighbours' place and tell 'em Willard Johnston just went crazy and stabbed her employer? Take it he's real." "He looks nothing like you, the case will be dismissed." The Spy appears, breaking into a jog. In the end, they are sprinting for the van, piling in and driving off before seatbelts have been fastened, the Spy sprawled across the bench seat with his door only just closed. "I hope mine has a little more life in him." He sighs, pulling himself up. "Maybe I should begin explaining myself before I sap his machine-- I would like him to know why he is dying." "That's if they're not both senile. Wouldn't worry about it, mate, there's still some satisfaction." "Mm. Well, it's the woman who really deserves to suffer. For les vieux, it is practically a mercy..." He reaches for his seatbelt and manages to buckle himself in despite the breakneck pace of the Sniper's driving causing him to slide around. They don't stop until they've put enough distance between themselves and the house. "We almost got away clean." Sniper chuckles, throwing the van into park. "Do you think we should have killed the housekeeper?" "Doubt it'd matter. She'll call the cops, yeah, but she'll give 'em the wrong name. Can't believe she had anything to do with what happened to us. You're free to take out any of the domestic help we find at the next place." Spy shrugs and leans back into the seat. "If it will make our escape neater. I can go in alone, unless you want to say you are Frank Brown from Rio Grande Coal." "How do--" "I made it my business to understand enough about the various companies that made up our employers, and to know enough names, in case I ever needed to. Willard Johnston was in the rolodex. Frank Brown came up when I first began looking into BLU. I like to know a little something about the people I do jobs for." "I'm not complaining." Sniper grins, his arm rests across the back of the seat. He can see how little space he has to traverse, for his hand to be on the Spy's shoulder. Spy tilts his head back, a sly smile aimed sidelong at the other man, as the base of his skull rests gently on the Sniper's forearm. "Good. I'm glad to hear it." "Y-yeah. So what's your plan?" "As I said, I can go in alone. After all, I am the one who is taking the machines out, and I am the one who was crossed by Blutarch Mann. I deserve to make that killing blow. You could remain in the van." "If you want to go in alone." Sniper says. He forces his tone to remain neutral, but he doesn't quite like it. They'd gone in together on the first brother, hadn't they? "You would be able to keep the engine running. Our getaway would be faster. Or we could both enter, and take out the staff as we go. Methodical, slow enough that no one is missed, not so slow that anyone has the opportunity to raise an alarm before they are killed. I am happy to go either way." "Guess it's your choice." He wishes he could move his arm, but pulling back now feels too much like admitting some twisted sort of defeat. The Spy's head is a comfortable warm weight. There's an intimacy between them that his refusals couldn't stop, and an electric heat that can't be denied, it flows off the other man in waves, and each wave threatens to be the one to take him under and drown him for good. "I think the quick getaway is smarter." Spy shrugs one shoulder, turns his head so that his cheek presses against the wrinkled sleeve of the accountant's blazer. "It would be a lie to say I would not prefer you with me." "Okay." Sniper moves his arm-- gently-- and guns the ignition. They drive on. "Okay." Spy resettles himself. "I'm with you." He nods.
You have me giggling in anticipation missy!
I can't wait til they meet the Amin! I find it kinda ironic that they'll kill innocent in revenge for the death of their semi-innocent friends, but that's often what people do isn't it?
Thanks! (Yeah, their morality is a little... off-centre... I drifted a little, tone-wise, from the seventies exploitation flick brainless fun revenge rampage I originally intended, though not quite into the Shakespearean tragedy realm of intellectualizing the futility/wrongness of such a rampage...) ~~~Ch. 10~~~ Spy doesn't bother with the door. His suit is in disrepair, he smells like blood and smoke and sweat and his mask is a dead giveaway, but he is not ready to take it off. He climbs a drainpipe, pulls himself up onto the little bit of roof that overhangs the crumbling victorian's porch. The Sniper follows, cursing softly as the gutter creaks and threatens to break and fall away. Spy grabs his hand and pulls him up. "All right?" "All right." "Good. Wait here, out of sight of the window, until I call for you." "Yeah. Whatever you say, mate." Sniper presses himself against the wall, where he couldn't be seen by anyone passing the big upstairs windows. Spy sees an empty hallway when he looks through the nearest. Even if someone were to come running, it would be easy enough to take care of them. He breaks the glass and jumps through. His trouser leg snags on the jagged glass, but he barely notices it scratch the skin. He cloaks and waits, but nobody comes to investigate. He gives a quick whistle, and the Sniper knocks the busted jags out of the windowframe before stepping through after him. Slipping through the upstairs corridor, they find the old man's study, it occupies the same position in the house as the brother's. Spy appears, relishes the moment of shock when the loud crack and cloud of smoke herald his arrival. Blutarch Mann reaches for a bell-pull, and Spy shoots his hand, chuckling as the old man clutches at it and hisses in pain. "Oh, my apologies." He strides forward. "But I doubt whoever you call for will be much of a match for me. I know, I know-- the machine." Sniper follows, and this time he is the one to lock the door, though he waits with one ear on the hall beyond, kukri in hand. The Ambassador will have alerted anyone in the house, even if the breaking window didn't. "I suppose you did not think about that, when you had us all killed, or thought you did." Spy continues. "Or do you keep another engineer somewhere, to fix it for you? It matters very little. By the time anyone arrives to repair what I plan to do to it, it will be far too late for you." "Now see here," The old man coughs. "I was in the basement of the base you sent me to, so you see here. I saw what happened to the men you stationed me with. I worked for you, I did the best work of my career for you. The kind of jobs I never do, I did because you hired me to do them, and I was assured that I would be taken care of, if my work was satisfactory." "Mr. Mann!" A woman's voice, a hammering at the door. "Mr. Mann, are you all right?" "You had best tell her you are." Spy draws his knife out. "Or my friend will kill her, and I will kill you. Before I destroy the machine. I think, as long as you are connected to this, I could 'kill' you a great many times, couldn't I?" "Mr. Mann!" Comprehension dawns in the old man's eyes, horror and then resignation replacing mulishness. "It's all right, Emily." He calls. "A burglar. I shot him. Don't-- Don't come in. I don't want you to see." "Good." Spy smiles. "Leave her be, she didn't know about my business." "She'll be calling the cops now to deal with the 'burglar'." Sniper growls. "Get it over with." "It is a very uncomfortable thing, to have a bomb dropped on you." Spy places the knife back in his breast pocket and takes the electro-sapper. "I was certain that I would die. A long, lingering death... just lying there in the heat, with the taste of dirt and blood, surrounded by the dead. My body racked with pain, until finally, my every organ just... gave out." He saps the machine and opens the office window. "I think you did kill the only man who could have fixed it for you." He smiles. "Spy, hurry it up." Sniper hisses. He looks at the destroyed machine, at the old man with the bleeding hand, at the heavy wooden door. Contempt twists his mouth. "It is already done." Sniper rushes them both out, scrambling down the side of the house on a trellis never meant to hold the weight of one grown man, let alone two. He grabs for the Spy's hand as they run for the van, and he pushes the man into the passenger's side before loping around to swing into his own seat. It's only once they reach the van that the Spy even notices the pain in his leg. "Merde." "What is it?" Sniper guns the engine, peels away from the last Mann estate to the sound of spitting gravel. "Not deep. I just hadn't realized I was cut. It bled quite a bit when we ran, but I will be fine." He places his foot up on the seat between them, rolls his trouser leg up past the calf and pushes the sock down, yanking it from the garter. "Fuck. You sure you're fine?" He finds his handkerchief and presses it to the cut. After a moment, he wipes away the blood from around the cut. "Yes. It's stopped. Nearly, at least. It was the running that made it bleed." "Sorry." "No. If this is the worst to happen, we can consider ourselves fortunate." Sniper pulls off the dirt road, takes the van behind a copse of scrubby half-dead trees. "Come on 'round back, let me get a look at it." "It's fine." Spy shakes his head, but he follows. In the back of the van, Sniper pats the bed, and Spy sits, watching as the Sniper digs through a battered footlocker. He brings out a first aid kit and an undershirt, and reaches for one of the canteens. "I thought you wanted to kill him. Said you deserved to." Sniper wets the shirt, using it to clean away the drying blood. "Don't worry, it's clean." "I did. But... I was in agony, before you found me. I could have dealt a quick death, but I do not think he will be as lucky as I was, with me gone. I think he will be dead by the time the woman brings the police for the 'burglar'. Maybe they will connect it to his brother's murder. I don't know. I do not care. He is too old and too frail to suffer for as long as I suffered, but... it is a better revenge, I think, not to grant him an easy exit. And did you not say we could not afford to waste our water?" "This isn't wasting it." Sniper mumbles. "Don't want this thing turning ugly-- I'll need you on your feet at the trade show, won't I? Besides, didn't use much." He digs cotton wool and antiseptic out of the kit. The Spy clenches his jaw, but there is no flinch when the antiseptic touches his cut. Sniper smiles. "What does our itinerary look like right now?" "Couple days on the road before we reach a city with an airport. How we're gonna get on a plane--" "Leave that to me. First I will need a change of clothes... short-sighted, to never take any when we were back at Badwater... But unimportant. When we reach the city's outskirts, I will need you to wear the accountant's suit again. We will hide the van and take ourselves some way from it. Keep that shirt, with the bloodstain-- it will be important." "And?" "And then we only need to find a much better man than either of us. But..." "But?" "But for a time, I will need to abandon this," His hand trails over his brow and down the side of his face. "The balaclava will draw the wrong sort of attention. I cannot expect to get anywhere looking like a carjacker." The Sniper draws in a breath. The mask comes off slowly, and he watches with the same deep hunger he remembers seeing on the Spy's face, when he had been stripping out of his clothes. "I know." Spy smiles wryly. "I am so much more handsome with it on. Now all the mystery has vanished." "No. I think you're fine. Okay." "Okay?" He arches a brow. This time the Sniper can see the way it causes a little wrinkle high on his forehead. "Yeah." "I think I can do better than that." "Well... bloody hell, you know how you look, I shouldn't have to spell it out for you." The Spy rakes a hand through short dark hair and laughs. "Spell it out for me." "I don't..." "Don't what?" Sniper swallows. "I don't sleep with men whose faces I've never seen." "And now you have seen it." "Yeah. Reckon now I have." "So how long do you plan on teasing me, now that this obstacle has been removed?" "I don't-- I mean, I don't sleep with any men." "I am not just any man, cher." Spy falls back, spreading himself on the bed. "And I am beginning to think your objections are a little weak." "So'm I, to be honest." Sniper sits on the bed. "Don't know if this is a thing I can just dive into. But I don't want regrets, either, if it all blows up and we don't finish this thing. Maybe I'd regret not at least having a go with you." He doesn't mention how long he's considered this potential for regret. He's spent too long since not acting on it, and he doesn't need the knock he knows he'll get from the other man. But he does let the Spy kiss him again. This time, it's not the desperate adrenaline-fueled battle of tongues that their first kiss had been. It's not the wistful taste of things that couldn't come to be that their second was. It is somewhere between the two and something more than either, something more than both. When he pushes forward, the Spy leans back, and when he pulls away, the Spy follows him, and they move in tandem in a way that's more intimate than any fuck he's ever had, but he worries that's not saying much, because lately everything with the Spy has been more intimate than the Sniper's trifling few conquests. He doesn't say 'love'. He's not ready to believe that's what it is, not even ready to believe that's something it could ever become. But it's a solid partnership set on fire, and that's all he really wants out of anything.
... and then I found this gem by you, too. NEXT CHAPTER IS GOING TO BE SO GOOD I CAN FEEL IT
Thanks! (I HOPE SO!) ~~~Ch. 11~~~ "If I change my mind..." Sniper pulls back. "I mean, if I can't go through with it, you gotta knock it off or I will shove your teeth down your throat. I don't think it'll come to that, because right now I really, really want to... ya know. I want to." "Good. Just give me a little warning between changing your mind and knocking my teeth in." "Yeah." He resumes kissing the Spy. He doesn't think he will change his mind. He's not even sure he'd really take a swing at the other man if he did, it'd be enough just to shove him off. But shoving him off would put an end to the hard body grinding against his, the hot tongue stroking the inside of his mouth, and the damned clever hands. Not to mention the potential for future blowjobs, and the things Spy's mouth does just kissing promises a certain amount of skill in that arena. Shoving him off would mean not feeling him up anymore, and that would be a bloody shame, because he felt pretty nice. "Ugh... I have not had a shower in days..." Spy groans. "So? Neither've I, you really wanna stop?" "No. Absolutement pas. More of this. I just..." "Don't mind." Sniper works the Spy's shirt off. "'f you don't." "Not at all." Spy returns the favour, draws Sniper back into another kiss. "Mm, not at all... I like my men filthy. Never would have guessed, hien?" "Well, I had an inkling." Sniper chuckles. The Spy's hand is down his trousers. It's a little difficult to avoid. He moves to kneel at the head of the bed, trousers shoved down around his thighs, one hand bracing himself against the wall of the camper, one holding the base of his own cock loosely. The Spy looks up at him, gaze long-lingering and slow-burning. "All this for me? It must be my lucky day... revenge and a big... hard... waiting... cock..." Every word sends another hot breath gusting out over sensitive skin. The Sniper groans, shifting forward slightly so that he can lay the head of his cock against the Spy's lips. Spy smiles, taking the Sniper in by degrees, indecent moans and firm suction, and hands that can't keep themselves from getting a piece of the action, sliding up wiry thighs to fondle the Sniper's balls, to squeeze his backside or rake short, neat nails too-lightly over his stomach. "Coming," He grabs at the Spy's short hair, fighting for enough control to get the warning out. After, watching the Spy wipe at his mouth with the back of his wrist, Sniper can feel his face heating up. "It's been a long time, so..." Spy smiles coyly, his mouth half-hidden behind his hand. "I am sure... I am also sure your last was not quite so good." "No. Not quite." "I hope you still know what to do." "Well, it was with a girl, so... not really." "Oh my." A smirk, before his tongue darts out to lick his wrist clean. "You can use your hands, then, if you must. They are very nice hands..." Sniper kisses him, and tastes himself. He keeps himself propped up on one arm, lets the other hand slip down between them, making a slow trail down the Spy's chest and belly before finally curling around his erection. The angle is all wrong, the feel familiar but different. The response he gets is good, though, and eventually he slides down to join his hand in administering attentions. He's tracing his tongue up and down the underside when the Spy comes across his face. If anything, he thinks, he enjoyed the whole thing too much. He settles down on the bed. They have enough time in their itinerary to take a quick nap now. And if they wake up with more then driving on the mind, maybe there's a little time for that, too. Have to get their fun in, he reasons. He's not sure he believes they can survive the final confrontation. Spy hasn't seemed anything less than focused and confident, though, and that... that goes a long way towards making him feel good about the whole thing.
Oh, man, this makes me so excited for them to finally meet up with the Announcer. I have a bad feeling about it though... man, I hope they don't get killed. (Is there really going to be Saxton Hale? Aussie vs. Aussie?!)
~~~Ch. 12~~~ "It is dangerous, to just... leave this here." Spy frowns, regarding the van, and the weapons cache visible through the open back door of the camper. "So what do you suggest?" "If I was leaving my life behind and heading into an uncertain situation, necessity forcing me to travel light? I would burn it all. Burn it all and not look back." He answers, with the grim air of a man who has done exactly that, and perhaps more than once. "I can't do that." "Well, no, obviously. There are grenades in the back." "No, I mean-- My whole life's in that van. Maybe I won't ever get back to it, but..." "But?" There is no recrimination, just honest curiosity. It has been a long time since the Spy has owned anything he could not walk away from. "I don't know. I got letters from my mum in there. And..." The Sniper picks up his rifle, cradles it in his hands a moment. "I guess I'm attached to some of this stuff. Couldn't tell you how many times having this has saved my skin." Spy takes the shovel from the pile in the back of the camper. "Put everything you don't want to burn-- and everything that will explode-- into your footlocker. We'll bury it. If you ever make it back to this place..." "Thanks, Spook." "It is a pity we cannot take the weapons-- though we will be at the Mann trade show... I know we could arm ourselves there with prototypes of something better. It just would have been... poetic justice, to use these." "Yeah. Well, not much we can travel with now." "No. Not much." He watches the Sniper's selection process. A combination of weapons and sentimental artifacts are placed into the footlocker, clothes that had once been inside it strewn about the van. After a moment of watching, he starts digging. The sooner it's done, the sooner they can take their next step, and getting dirty at this point... Well, it will add verisimilitude to his story later. The Sniper digs as well, once the locker is packed. They have only one of the entrenching tools, and his kukri is packed away, but the more intricate wooden one works as well, its blade digging into the earth. It's good to be north of the desert. In the desert, their only choices would be hard clay or impossibly fluid sand. Here the earth is firm, but it yields enough to dig. It's cool and the smell is sweet, but they are far enough from the trees that neither man thinks setting the vehicle ablaze will harm too much. It's a lonely stretch of road... Before they bury the locker, the Spy opens it one last time, dropping his Ambassador into the last available space. "We'll make it back to dig this up together. And if only you make it back, you already know how to handle her." "I never did teach you how to use the rifle, did I?" "Do you want to take a little time?" There are two, in the footlocker. One the trusty model he'd carried through most of his adventures, one a rather antique-looking jezail rifle. He lifts them both out. "Sure, which do you want?" "This one." Spy's hands slide over the Sniper rifle, along the barrel, the scope, the stock. The Sniper isn't sure why he approves of the choice as much as he does. The jezail rifle is too nice, too rare, to let burn, but it isn't like his own arm, and this one is. Having it in the Spy's hands is almost like being touched, and in that moment he realizes a half a dozen things about his experience with the Ambassador before, that he hadn't quite been able to translate or accept at the time. The sex had been sex, this was intimacy. "C'mon." He leads the Spy over to a small hummock of earth just beyond the van, looking down onto a little sparsely-wooded area before. "If you're not used to the recoil, you can lie down..." "Does that help?" Spy smiles at him, and again, it's like a veil is lifted and he gets the teasing looks. "Dunno. Maybe. Least you wouldn't fall on your arse. Or... I could, uh... make sure you keep steady." "I appreciate it. Should I also be wearing your hat? Does that help?" "Yeah." Sniper rolls his eyes, but he sets his hat on the other man's head. "Now you know my secret. It's a magic hat. Go on, line up a shot-- don't take it yet, just line something up." The Spy does, places his eye to the scope and finds a heart carved on one of the skinny trees below, aims for the center. "Spread your legs a little wider." Sniper whispers. He's standing close behind the Spy now, has his hands on the man's waist. "Don't lock your knees, either. You wanna stay grounded." The Spy presses back into him, under the pretense of settling himself into a steadier position. "Better?" "Yeah. Yeah, better. Tricky part's adjusting for the wind. Little bit of breeze out, you want to compensate, but you don't want to overcompensate." "Mon ami, I gave up on overcompensating a long time ago." The Spy laughs. The way one finger strokes along the rifle as he says it is positively indecent. He doesn't lose his firm grip, doesn't make any huge display, just slides one finger lightly in a small back-and-forth. "G-good. Rest is as natural as breathing. Just... squeeze..." The crack of the rifle splits the air, sends birds evacuating the few trees down below. The Spy had braced himself for the recoil, but the force still pushes him a little more firmly into the Sniper. "Care to check my work?" Spy slides over, lets the Sniper take his rifle without letting the scope move too far from its target. "Dead centre." Sniper swallows. There are no initials marking the little heart, just the neat bullet hole that feels too near the mark. "Parfait. Would you like your hat back?" "Looks good on you." Sniper shrugs, grins in spite of himself. He takes it back anyway. They finish burying the locker, use a flamethrower with a mostly-empty tank to start the van burning. Then they walk down the road, in the direction of the nearest city.
~~~Ch. 13~~~ When a car finally passes, they both look filthy and half-dead, suits wrinkled and liberally streaked with dirt, spotted with blood, beginning to tatter. The first car drives on, but the second stops. "Holy Hannah, what happened to you fellas?" The driver hops out. "Our car was taken." Spy answers. He borrows the voice he'd mastered from long hours of impersonating the engineers. "Our money. Our airline tickets were in the glove box... My buddy and I are salesmen." The Sniper hides a smile in his hand, pretending to cough. The roadside dust at least offers a good excuse. Even if the salesmen story wasn't funny, hearing the Spy say 'buddy' kind of was. "Anyway, with no car, no luggage, and no tickets... Whoo-ee, boy." "Yeah." Sniper nods. "I can give you fellas a lift into the city." The driver offers. "Well, thanks a million." The Spy shakes the man's hand. He manages to keep up the chatty Texas salesman act through the drive, but when the man drops them off, an expression of distaste comes through. "You..." The Sniper shakes his head. "Are remarkable." "But of course. Still... I hate inane prattle." "Even when you're the one prattling?" "Particularly then. Where has he dropped us-- Is this a UCJG?" He shudders. "I want you to know, I hate everything about what I am going to do." "It's a Y. What are you going to do?" "Shower in public." The Sniper laughs. "It's not so bad. You already gave up your mask, what's it gonna hurt?" Unlike the Sniper, the Spy slips through invisibly until they reach the locker room. "No suitable replacements." He sighs, poking through the few open lockers. "You can't steal someone's clothes." "Why not? How do you think you got that suit?" "... That's different." "Well, in that he no longer required them after I shot him, yes." "No, I mean--" The Sniper takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes. "You wanna sell the carjacked salesmen story to the airport, right? Not that I see how it's gonna work..." "I can be persuasive. All right. Eventually I need to replace what I am wearing, though. I have been trying not to count the days since I had a different pair of underwear." "Do what I do, then." Sniper shrugs, grinning. "No rule saying you have to wear 'em." Spy coughs. "If I have to be naked in a room with an audience, would you please refrain from casually mentioning to me that you are not wearing underwear." "What? I'm gonna be naked in a minute." He starts stripping. "It is different." The Spy snaps. He shakes his suit out as best he can, and loathes the thought of getting right back into it after showering, but showering and re-dressing in dirty things is still a step better than continuing to not shower. There is not too much of a crowd, at least. It is mid-day, during the working week. Another mercy, the airport is not far from the Y. Compared to everything else they've gone through, the walk is not too bad. "Wait here. I need to do some reconnaissance." The Spy whispers, pulling Sniper into a corner and hitting the button on his watch. "Try to look casual." "Yeah. Casual." "This is a delicate balance. There are only so many ways we can go, and even hope to make it through. There is no chance at all if I cannot get a little more information, and I need to do that invisible, and alone." The Sniper just nods, as small a movement as he can. He can't be talking to thin air if someone passes, he already looks like a derelict. He feels lips ghost over his cheek, and then there's a sudden cool emptiness to the air in front of him. He tries to imagine the path through the crowd that the Spy might take. Tries to guess at his destination, and plot out the gaps between businessmen and stewardesses that he'd need to dodge between, the places he'd need to stop, if he didn't want to lose his cloak. In the end, though, he has no idea if he's watching the Spy's general whereabouts or not. Finally, he feels the man press past him, and hears him uncloak. He turns. "Well?" "I thought it would be safer, if I popped into existence behind you. I was worried about being seen." "Fine. But...?" "With me." Spy nods. He draws a small pad of paper from his jacket pocket. "Manifesto. We just have to wait for two of the names on the list not to show, then we can adopt them. Then it is merely a matter of presenting our story to the right person." "If there aren't two people missing?" "Then before the next flight goes, I will take out insurance." He says, tucking the pad back into his blazer and striding towards the gate.
Eeee! Actual Spy!spy! I love this! It may have not made me jizz but I have a ladyboner for this story like no one's business!
Thank you! ~~~Ch. 14~~~ The Spy's luck holds out spectacularly, in spite of the Sniper's misgivings. They don't just get onto the plane, they get into first class. Ten hours of travel headway that he isn't responsible for is about the best thing to happen to the Sniper since the bomb fell. Well, he amends, glancing over at the man beside him, not the very best. Very nice, but not getting laid-nice and not having someone to trust-nice. The Spy is on the aisle, hypervigilant throughout all ten hours in the air, even though the Sniper knows he's got to be exhausted. Still, having the Spy there, he feels safe enough to nod off himself. When they finally deplane, the Spy leads him down to luggage claim, despite their stunning lack of luggage, and after scanning the carousel, he grabs a bag. "It won't be missed-- at least, no time soon." He promises. "It was supposed to arrive in Asia." "Yeah, what are the odds we can use it?" Spy shrugs. "Your pass to the trade show includes a single room in the hotel?" "Yeah. It'll be damned convenient up until someone comes knocking looking for the Pauling woman." Sniper snorts. They exit the airport, blinking in the harsh sun of the car park. "Come on, let's at least get a little use out of it. If you can break into a car, I can start it." The Spy smiles. "That is such an attractive quality in a man..." "Shut it." He hisses. "No flirting, not in public, not unless you want to draw a lot of trouble. Come on, sooner we get out of here, sooner we can find that hotel and if we're lucky we can clean up. If we're real lucky, at least one of us will be able to change into something." The Spy opens a fairly nondescript sedan, and scans the lot while the Sniper gets the engine going. The drive to the hotel is quiet. They're arriving slightly ahead of schedule, and it's possible they won't be able to get into the room reserved for Miss Pauling, at least not until the start of the trade show. There are a lot of open possibilities, and so few of them are good. Still, there's little to be lost in pushing forward that wouldn't be just as lost in waiting. "It's only you." The Spy whispers, cloaking himself as they step out of the car and start for the hotel. "You are a last-minute replacement, your flight was moved up, and you had a minor accident on the way to the hotel. You have lost most of your luggage, and all your important papers, identification, and money, all you have left if the trade show pass." "Right." Sniper jogs up to the grand front doors, and the sleeping doorman. A small, elderly woman is creeping towards them from the inside at a glacial pace, but holding the door for her will give the Spy ample time to duck inside without anything seeming strange. Repeating the Spy's story gets him through, and he refuses the assistance of a bellboy with a bristling handlebar mustache, carrying the single stolen suitcase himself. He can feel the Spy hovering nearby, can feel the slight rush of air when they move past each other, the warmth when they stand too close in the elevator. Inside the room, the Spy uncloaks with a heavy sigh, and the Sniper throws the suitcase down on the bed and yanks it open. He ignores the Spy for a long moment, sorting through the misbegotten luggage for anything he can use. "I love this hotel." The Spy groans, from the bathroom. "Barely got here." "Toothbrush!" He comes back around the corner, holding the cellophane-wrapped amenity aloft. "It's mine." "We could share." "No." "Oh, come on. You'll suck my cock and you won't share a toothbrush with me?" "What's in the suitcase?" He changes the subject. "Nothing." Sniper throws a filmy pink negligee at the Spy. "Unless you wanna wear that." "Why, cher." The Spy bats his eyelids. "I had no idea. All right, all right. This is a big hotel, fancy. Doubtless it has a laundry service for long-term guests, no?" "Yeah, I don't know, probably. Don't think the hotel laundry service is gonna do either of our suits any good at this point." "No. But I could steal things that are guaranteed to be an acceptable fit, if not an outstanding one. I'll be back soon. While I'm gone... You put the room service on the company tab. If all goes well, the Administrator will be dead before she can even find out about it." "Spy..." "Anything that isn't peanut butter and canned soup will make me happy. I'll be back with clothes. Vite, vite, call down for food." He disappears, out of the room and out from view, leaving the Sniper with things unvoiced, things not even wholly thought-through. Words of caution? Sentiment? He doesn't know, himself. He doesn't know himself. He sits on the bed with a sigh. His arm feels heavy when he reaches for the phone. When he gets the front desk, he just asks for two of the special. It seems easier than thinking.
~~~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!