After a year away from the fandom, I was sucked back in-- and I decided to continue a story I started last July, the sequel to this (http://tf2chan.net/afanfic/res/2076.html). Although there's no porn in this one (close, though), since it's a sequel to something on afanart, I supposed it should stay here. And a sequel it is-- the general plot is a direct continuation, so I recommend familiarity with "engie/medic" before reading, as junky as I consider that story. ...I won't pretend to know much German or French either, generally I use it in good humor, knowing it may be exploding with bad grammar, but if anyone wants to teach me what I'm most likely doing wrong, I'd really wouldn't mind, lol. â– â– â– â– â– â– In the early morning, just before the sun rose, was when Spy liked to shower. He was alone and without worry that anyone would see his face. Somehow he didn't seem to remember that every morning there was a locker half-open, a towel removed, and steam in the windows before he even got there. And every morning he was reminded in a pretty unpleasant manner. Standing in the shower's wooden stall he raised his unmasked, prickly face to the warm water, feeling it travel down his neck and chest, over his body. It was something he genuinely enjoyed. He began humming to himself and started thinking today would be good. Eventually he decided to express his merriment with singing quietly: "...Et je voudrais pouvoir un jour enfin te le dire," the soap lathered well, but something started to feel strange, "Te l' ecrire..." Then he could put his finger on it, "Dans la langue de ShakespeareaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!" Spy's entire body quivered as the water became Arctically cold, sucking the warmth from his body in an instant. He squealed with an ear-splitting shrillness as he stood in the water, arrested with surprise and utter hatred. Now he remembered. "SOLDIEEEERRRRRR!!" Spy screamed, "MANGE DE LA MEEEEERRRRDE!!" His hands frantically shut off the cold faucet and cranked up the hot but it made absolutely no difference. Covered in soap he was going nowhere. Continuing his screaming in protest he quickly rinsed himself off. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS, YOU STUPIDE PUTE?!" Silence. "IT MEANS EAT SHIT--- EAT SHIT AND DIE!!" After that he dried off, got dressed and ate breakfast alone with a vicious frown on his face. The water had frozen him to the bone, and for that he was very unhappy. This was not the first time this had happened, but this time he would not shrug it off. No, Soldier was going to die today. No, really. The advent of respawn meant that brutal revenge was a very real thing with little consequence. After he chain-smoked for an hour he decided to visit someone. He tossed his well-smoked cigarette into the shaded desert sand behind RED's wooden bunk and stepped on it. Making his way out, he looked up. The crown of the singular look-out was a small shack high-up above him. It was accessable only from a long, long ladder. His gloved hands wrapped around the metal rung and he pushed, lifting himself up foot by foot and hand by hand. It always briefly crossed his mind but he'd never say it-- heights. They always put a little poison in the pit of his stomach, sloshing around with the toast and tar of his breakfast. He kept looking up, wary of realizing how high up he was and caught sight of cigarette butts and pieces of toast crusts falling towards him. A frustrated grunt and he raised an arm, shielding his face. Some pieces bounced off him gingerly. Spy made it to the top and crawled into the small, wooden box. Inside was blankets, a rickety-as-hell bed, dust, dirt and a Sniper, looking out the glassless window with his rifle. He barely noticed the Spy enter. "You may want to be a little more careful of where you put your garbage, Sniper," Spy sighed as he snuck over to where the ocker was sitting. "C'mere, mate," a shift and the Frenchman was behind the scope to eye whatever it was in the distance, "Not really sure what's goin' on there." Spy made a confused frown as he saw, through the long window in the RED Base, the team's Engineer being tailed by the Medic. They would stop and talk for a moment before the former would ignore the latter and continue walking a few steps. Then something happened. "I am givin' you one last chance, Doc. Stay away from me. I mean it," Engie growled and pointed at the doctor. Medic's grin only widened at the opposition. "Enginee-ah~" "Don't test me!" "...Ve have two days vhile mein Heavy is off getting supplies vis Demoman--" "I gave you mah warnin'!" "Vhat happens now is just between us, I promise you." "Y'know what, Medic? Ah really thought this madness would end when ah put my foot down. But I see you're not th'kind of man who listens to the concerns of others. So maybe you need to be threatened!" The German just laughed, delighted. "If you keep tryin' to get me to sleep with you I'll-- I'll--!" He stopped, realizing that the Medic would more-or-less enjoy whatever little abuse Engineer could deal. The Texan huffed, frustrated, and turned to stomp away but his elbow was caught by the other man's hand and all his angry inertia spun him into the doctor's arms. The short man's heart pounded into his throat and he froze, in a position his body wanted with every ounce of him. His body pressed against Medic's with little coercion. A sort of sorrow washed over him as the doctor pushed his lips against his own. "Mon dieu," Spy cooed, passing the rifle back to Sniper, "In public!" A rustle, "Holy dooley... They're really goin' at it. Two blokes. Roight there in the base." Spy pushed over a blanket from the bed and grabbed Sniper's old, water-damaged binoculars. They were horrific for spying on people, but he was too curious. He wedged himself in the window next to Sniper and watched as the doctor wrested the other man to the floor. The Australian suddenly jumped, "I-Is he chokin' the Doc?" "It would seem so, mon ami..." This was their hobby: watching their team-mates from a distance. It started some months ago when Spy's adventures of watching members of RED were interrupted by a sudden cloaking problem and landed him in quite a bit of trouble. Sniper liked to hear of his exploits in Voir-ing (decidedly different from Voyeurism), and they both soon discovered that they had in common a pathetic enjoyment of gossip. There was only so many times one could watch relatively dated projections of Let's Make a Deal for entertainment. Medic rolled off his captive, coughing and holding his throat. "Vhy... did I not... remember, nngh, zhat you have such a... strong grip...?" he wheezed. "Ah warned you!" Engie scrambled to his feet and a sudden look of concern came over him, "A-Are you okay?" "Ja, I vill be.. okay..." he suddenly glared up at the American and flashed a toothy grin, "...As soon as ve are touching each other!" A hand down and he lurched at the Engineer like a cat. Engie dodged, falling over onto the wooden floor with a cry and a slam before scrambling to his feet and running down the hallway, desperate to escape the situation. Medic gave chase, confident that his significantly longer legs would serve him well. "Eh-hah hah hah," Sniper laughed with a hoarse cruelty. His crooked teeth glinted in the desert sun. "Not bad," the Frenchman grinned, lowering his binoculars. "So... the Doc's a fag," a sip from the last of the coffee in the adjacent cup made the Australian make a face, "Crikey." "Does that make him less of a Docteur?" Spy raised an eyebrow as he tossed the binoculars onto Sniper's messy bed. "Nah, that ain't what I meant," he dumped the rest of his bitter coffee out the window, "It's just somethin' everybody thought, I guess. Although I thought he was shackin' up with Heavy." "Well maybe he is. It did seem like Medic and ze laboreur were having a bit of a, what would you call it, a 'blue'?" "Haha, yeah. Mad as a cut snake, he was." Spy laughed. Maybe as a linguaphile he found Sniper's slang incredibly entertaining. He'd learned plenty of languages, but there was no formal school for an "ocker's" dialect. "Wait, if Truckie's bein' chased around by that root-rat," the Austrailian glanced back into the rifle's lense, "...I guess he ain't makin' dinnie." "Hon, you poor thing," Spy walked towards the ladder down as Sniper lay his rifle against the window sill with a soft "thump". He picked up his coffee cup and followed the suited man out of the lookout. In the kitchen-dining room, in that tiny space, they started to cook with some enthusiasm. Spy turned from the refrigerator to toss Sniper two eggs. He caught them with some exaggerated safety, bending his knees slightly as they fell into his hands. Sniper cracked the eggs into a skillet, "Omelette?" "Omelette." As he dashed a fork through the bubbling, hissing fluid Spy began cutting a white onion. With the skilled gentleness of hands made for weilding a knife, he sliced through it thoughtfully. After he chopped up the slices Spy threw them in the skillet. "No peppers," he informed Sniper, carefully wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Just cheese is fine, mate." The fridge creaked open again and nimble fingers pulled out a block of cheddar. As he cut strips of it into the frying pan, a piece fell on Sniper's tanned hand. When Spy reached for it the doors of the dining room creaked open and they both turned their head to see who it was. Medic walked in, tired-looking in his tucked-in dress shirt and made his way to the sink to take the kettle and fill it with water. "Excuse me, herren," placing the kettle on the oven next to Sniper's pan the red, wooden floor boards creaked under their combined weight. "Hey, doctor. You know where Truckie's wandered off to?" The Australian asked, earning an incredulous glance from Spy behind him. There was a moment, a furrowed eyebrow and then an awnser, "He's locked himself in his room." Medic knew; when lying one must tell the truth as well. "Why's he cooped up in there? He's s'posed to be makin' the grub today." "...He vishes to be alone," Medic slumped into a chair at the dining table, "You'll have to ask him yourselves if you vant a reason." Sniper shrugged and turned back to the omelette as Spy stole a look at the doctor's neck, out of curiosity. Faint red marks painted fingers past his tendons. Not enough to bruise though, not by a long-shot. The piece of cheese from Sniper's hand made it to his mouth and he made a short nod at Spy to call him closer. "Oui?" He curiously whispered. The floorboards creaked again. "...Remember somethin' you told me a bit back," Sniper's hushed voice sounded like a wheeze, "'Conflict is an opportunity fer fun.'" At first Spy frowned. Then he nodded once, eyebrows high. He turned to Sniper with a hand raised, pointing at his face. "Rappelez-vous-- remember we had this conversation. I will not be at the chopping block alone, non?" "Yeah, yeah," Sniper picked up the pan, ""Ere, get a plate." They both ate the omelette at the table while looking at Medic, all quiet, as he sipped coffee. Medic sipped, at one end of the table, and looked at them. They ate, at the other end, and looked at him. Spy gave a courteous smile, brows raised, and barely opened his mouth before the dining-room door exploded open and Soldier flung himself through, screaming as loud as he could; "ENGIE!!" The occupants of the table stared at him as he glanced from one to the next, "...Oh, he's not here." "Nope, mate." "LADIES, I FEAR OUR FELLOW AMERICAN HAS BEEN ABDUCTED." "He has not," Medic drawled, "Have you checked his room?" Soldier froze, unseen blue eyes darting from Medic's face to Sniper's uninterested expression, to Spy's quick and deliberate shit-eating grin. Turning 180 degrees, he marched out the dining room door from whence he came, and upon seeing the patriot's broad back Spy's entire body ran cold for a moment, just to remind him of the motivations of a would-be murder. He slowly stood up, pushing his plate towards Sniper, "...Safeguard this omelette with your life," he whispered before ghosting steps outside the room after the Soldier. Calmly and ever quietly Spy followed Soldier's marching down the hallway towards the sleeping quarters, one foot in front of the other to lessen the wooden floor's creaking, each step in time with Soldier's to mask his movement. His fingers gently pulled the butterfly knife from his sleeve, a flick of his wrist once, twice, and he grasped its handle together, blade gleaming momentarily in the sunlight leaking from the rickety walls. The balisong was raised, a quiet breath taken in, but Spy froze for a moment. He heard from somewhere the sweet, sad sound of a harmonica, a shock of emotion in the presence of attempted murder, and for a moment Spy listened, not entirely sure of what he was hearing. He tensed, remembering what he was doing, feeling the slight weight of the knife in his hand and noticed Soldier had run off ahead of him. Spy hustled, double-timing his steps and quietness efforts until he came close enough to the man's back again as he slammed a fist onto a door before him. Spy silently breathed in again, raising his arm, his fingers clutched tight around the handle of his dagger-- and Soldier suddenly backed up, "Oof!", smashing into the Spy and the balisong, once in his hand, had flown through the air spinning and disappeared soundlessly into a hole in the floorboards. Spy hiccuped, glaring at the floor where it vanished. "What're you doin' here?" A tired, southern voiced asked in suspicion. Spy quickly turned around and saw the Engineer standing in the doorway adjacent to the Soldier. Soldier straightened up, standing at attention, "ENGIE! I'VE COME TO REMIND YOU OF YOUR DUTIES AS A COOK FOR TODAY!" "T'day and every day, it seems... Ah wasn't askin' you anyway," he turned to the Spy, giving what seemed to be an expression of distrust, "What're you doin' here, Spah." Spy straightened up, dusting his suit off, "Oh laboreur, I heard you were upset, so I've come to sing you a song of your people," he began warbling quickly, "Born-on-ze-baaaaa'you, born-on-ze-baaaaaa'youuu." "Ah wasn't born in Louisiana," the Engineer assured him before turning back to Soldier, "Why can't you folks just leave me alone for a day? Well, two days. Why can't you folks just leave me alone for two days?" "WE'LL STARVE TO DEATH!" Soldier cried, throwing his big hands on Engie's shoulders to shake him. Engie pushed him off as Spy reached for his disguise kit to retrieve a cigarette, "We care. Zere are too many sinks to un-clog, you see." Engie shot him a look, "You know I know 'care' don't mean shit comin' outta your mouth." Spy gently put a hand to his chest in mock-offense, "Well I nev-air!" "Now if y'all excuse me, I got a lot of wallowin' to do," Engie reached for the door knob and for a moment Spy spotted in his room a mysterious brown envelope-- the one that he'd gotten in the mail about a week ago that he kept to himself in spite of his teammates' pleas of curiosity. "But... BUT!" Solly reached his hands out to grasp the Texan's shoulders again but the door was slammed shut, catching the fingers of Soldier's right hand in with a loud BANG! He wailed momentarily as the door opened more again to let his digits free. Engie shouted "Apologies!" before closing and locking the door between them. Spy made a flat, disinterested expression as the Solder sobbed, turning slowly to walk back to the dining room. After he disappeared into the hallway, wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeves, the Spy glanced about before quickly moving to his hands and knees to stare through the hole in the wooden floor where his knife ventured. Brows furrowed, he moved to let light shine inside, but it was coal-black with darkness and even sticking his fingers through yielded nothing. He stood up, sighing, and returned to the dining room.
what the..what is this crap?
2 Way to be a dickhead, bro.
Spy straightened up, dusting his suit off, "Oh laboreur, I heard you were upset, so I've come to sing you a song of your people," he began warbling quickly, "Born-on-ze-baaaaa'you, born-on-ze-baaaaaa'youuu." This made my night.
hey hey 3 low standards much?
5 Y'all are gonna have to be a little more specific if you wanna troll right (or give good criticism). Help me and I'll help you, okay? â– â– â– â– â– â– When he came back Sniper returned the omelette as Spy sat down next to him, and it was obvious that whatever was left was only half of what he remembered was there. Spy gave him a frustrated expression, pressing his lips in a line as the bushman gave a fake look of surprise and shrugged exaggeratedly. When the Spy finished his omelette he tossed their plates in the sink thoughtlessly, where Medic was washing dishes. The doctor growled as the frenchman gave him no mind, "Schweinhund, do your own dishes!" Sniper moved his chair a bit closer to Spy's as he sat back down. "So? What's the drum, mate?" "I must infiltrate ze laboreur's quarters somehow, there is something... that may be of interest..." The Australian raised an eyebrow, "Like wot?" "Let it be a secret," a grin and a pat on the table. Sniper rolled his eyes subtly and thought, a visibly blank expression for a moment before Medic turned from the sink. "Here, do your own dishes-- you didn't think I was serious? Herr Spy I refuse, sich weigern." Medic draped a dishcloth next to him on the table, "Ich meine das ernst!" "Yes, yes," the Spy sighed. As the doctor walked around the table of the crowded kitchen Sniper grabbed his arm, "Wait-- Doc--" Medic turned, grasping his hand tightly, "Careful, Australier, whose hand you take so earnestly." Sniper stared at him, slightly startled. He blinked, "Uh... Oh, Doc. Will you help us get Truckie out here?" The german drew to himself, dropping the hand grasped in his and calmly glancing between Sniper and the Spy. Certainly he was suspicious, "...And why?" "So he can make us a bloody meal, why else?" Sniper surprised Spy somewhat with his lying-- or perhaps it was half in truth, judging by how much omelette he just ate he did seem hungry. Medic threw his hands up and puffed, his hair-curl moving against his breath. Two steps and he took the knob of one of the red, wooden double-doors in hand and paused, turning. He lifted a hand to his chest, "...Tell him I will be in my office if he wants to speak to me. I won't bother him." Ka-chack, the door opened and with Medic left a cloud of some sort of melancholy in the air. Spy sighed, blinking, and took the cigarette from his mouth to douse it in the nearby ashtray. Sniper excitedly turned to him. "Southern-style porkchops, mate!" He gave Spy two enthusiastic thumbs-up. The frenchman laughed to himself, "Hmph!", shook his head, and they both stood up to leave and talk to the Engineer. When they got to his door it was silent throughout the hallway. Spy looked up over the doorway as Sniper called out, "Truckie. Truckie. Oi, Truckie." He saw a horse-shoe, nailed upright overhead, which he hadn't noticed before. A moment passed and Sniper started knocking. He continued to knock, "Ya gonna answer, mate? What if I knock ya the Charge of the Light Brigade," he then started knocking in rhythm. Spy raised an eyebrow, "Isn't that a poem?" A voice called out from inside, "Whatcha want, slim." Sniper stopped and straightened up, owning up to that name, it seemed, "We got a message from the Doc for ya, Truckie." "Ah hope he ain't with ya," the man inside grumbled before stepping towards the door and slowly opening it. The moment he caught eyes with Spy, he shot back, "You? Again? What're you doin' here?" "Nevermind that," Spy shook his head, frowning, "The message, the message." Engie sighed and leaned back against the door-frame as the Sniper recited, "He said he'd be in 'is office if ya wanted to talk to him, and he... wasn't gonna bother ya." A trace of surprise, and some concern came across the Texan. He was quiet for a moment. "Did he mean that? Was that the truth?" Sniper shrugged, "S'pose." Engie turned, scratching the back of his neck as he very slowly walked back inside his room. Spy and Sniper quietly waited outside, caught between speaking and saying nothing. Sniper jumped, hearing the hiss of something and a crash in the kitchen at the far end of the hall. He snarled, "...Hope that dipstick digga' doesn't burn the bloody house down." "Oh laboreur, please father your seven children in their time of need," Spy mumbled, plucking another cigarette from his coat. The Australian grinned, "Whass Medic the cook? Can't say I care too much for German food, though." They both laughed obnoxiously before the door in front of them opened again. Engie stepped out, closing the door behind him and glanced at the two, "If'n you see the doctor, tell him if he comes near me I'll give 'em a toss. No word of a lie." They continued down the hall in relative silence before a huge plume of smoke came from the kitchen.
This made more sense once I went back and refreshed my memory by reading the backstory. I admit this is just me (other people may not have this problem), but the long blocks of text with no space between paragraphs is hard on my eyes, and makes it difficult to follow the story. It seems like a funny story to me, I'm just having trouble reading it because everything kind of blurs together.
5 It's not about low standards, it's about having a basic sense of respect and decency. OH MAN BUT THIS IS THE INTERNET WE CAN'T HAVE THAT
7 Aghhh neverbeengoodatformatting BUT I'LL TRY â– â– â– â– â– â– As it turned out, something in the coil damper caught fire as the Soldier was "cooking," and Engie extinguished the flame promptly and sat the man down to the table. "Boy, don't... just don't touch anythin'. I'll fix ya something." Solly grinned under his helmet and sat at attention. Sniper looked around in the smoke and noticed Spy was missing, copped out in the cover. He quickly came up with an excuse in case someone noticed. As the Engineer prepared a meal, the Spy crept back down the hallway, nothing to be seen but his steps in the dust as he approached the Texan's room and slipped inside. It was a little messy, some rolled up paper under a desk, a pile of what looked like scraps and bits of electronics on top, a messy bed with a book tucked under one leg, a rickety bookshelf decked off, a tall, wooden closet... Spy spun around slowly, observing, taking in details to preserve. He glanced to the desk and quietly opened its drawers, looking inside. He picked up a small box and recognized it as one that usually kept rings. Opening it he saw inside, a brilliant wedding band shone in the light. "Q'est que c'est?" He might have seen a name engraved on it, but he chose not to read it. Knowing a name in Teufort was like the vice-knowledge of a faery-creature's True Name, a disproportionate strength against them. A contract in hand from a pool-side where the Muse was bathing. He didn't hate the Engineer enough. He didn't hate him much at all, really. In the next drawer-- "Ah, bingo," he pulled out the envelope and pictures fell out-- he picked up one of them to look at it. A shoe? He looked at another. And then he really looked at it, a picture of the Medic and the Engineer on a chair, the Texan's hand between the older man's legs. Blankly the Spy stared at it before an incredulous smile came to his face. He looked at the next one (there was only three), and thankfully it was a picture of them merely kissing. In a train bathroom? Spy thought back to their semi-recent trip to the Granary and was astounded that this was happening without his knowledge. He put the photos in his coat pocket to show the Sniper later and grasped the brown envelope in hand before freezing in case someone was walking down the hallway. Then he continued, opening the envelope. There was one piece of paper inside, and he read it. His expression turned from devilish thrill to soft concentration, and then a slightly surprised, somewhat pitiful look. After he read it, he returned it to the envelope, closed the drawer and sat there, thinking. Mulling over things. He made his way outside again and walked past the dining room towards a bathroom and heard a Sniper, "...Horseshoe, huh? Fer luck." "Everythin's lucky where you come from, ain't it? The 'Lucky Country' and all that." "Ha ha, you get that from a liquorice wrapper?" Spy got into the tiny bathroom, barely enough room for a toilet and a sink, and uncloaked. The room smelled like a dead animal stuck in the cieling, huge houseflies buzzing around the light inside, and the frenchman stuck his tongue out, making a disgusted expression, "Yeach!" He opened the door and slammed it behind him as he stood in the hallway. Patting his jacket off he walked back to the dining room. The Engineer glanced towards him as he entered, a hot suspicion behind his dark goggles. Sniper pulled out a seat for the Spy before he sat down. From his body language and expression Sniper could gather that Spy had something of interest. He turned his attention back to the Engineer as he placed plates in front of them, and Soldier. He put one in front of the Sniper, "Here, happy now?" "Happy as a pig in shit, mate," Sniper grinned, taking Engie's hand and giving it an affectionate slap. Engie drew away sighing and continued cooking. "One of you boys wanna go get Pyro and Scout? Ah might as well make somethin' for everybody." Solder stood up and saluted, "I'LL BE YOUR AIDE, ENGIE." The Engineer pushed him back down onto the seat, "Why don't you just finish your dinner, boy." "While you're gone the Sniper might eat it for you," Spy laughed lowly, a wirey grin on his face. Sniper nodded quite frankly in agreement as Engie turned to the frenchman. "You can go get them then, Spah," a curt glare and Engie turned back to the oven. A raised eyebrow, unimpressed, and Spy shrugged, turning to leave, "Only for you, laboreur." With little difficulty Spy retrieved Pyro, who was constantly in their room, minding their own business. He failed to find the Scout, though, and returned to the dining room. As he opened the doors he heard Sniper laughing and smelled the overwhelming, delicious scent of cooked pork and vegetables. It was getting rather hot in there, and Spy felt the heat from his neck as he swung through the doors. "...I could not find ze boy." Engie turned, and through the chatter he told him, "...Look by Medic's door." Leaving the doors slightly open to let out some of the heat Spy walked through the hallway towards Medic's office. As he approached he saw Scout looking in through the window in the office door. "Boy," Spy called before being cut off by a hush. Scout continued to stare through the window as he came nearer. "Hey, you can understand German, right? Tell me what he's sayin'." Spy didn't consider it, really, trying to pull Scout away, "Dinner is ready, you--" He froze, hearing words. To a mind with a sheer grasp of language translating was as natural as breathing, and he heard then, soft sounds... "Ah... ich will... mn..." Spy's mouth twisted into a disgusted frown, an eyebrow raising in shock-- he pulled Scout away, "Hey!" and heard more, "Mn, bitte--" Hands slapped against his ears as the frenchman squealed to drown it out, "Eeeeeeeaaaaaaahhh!" His knee rose, kicking Scout towards the dining room. "What's your problem--?? Ah!" "Move it you imbicile!!" "What was he sayin'?" "None of your business!" When they returned Spy sat next to Sniper and shivered. "Awfully warm for shiverin'," the Australian smiled, raising a mug to drink from. Spy leaned towards him and whispered in his ear, "After dinner we'll go to your lookout." And they did. As they scaled the tall, tall ladder Sniper looked down towards his friend, "Y'look like you seen a ghost, mate." Spy punched him in the butt, "Crikey!" "Keep climbing!" Sniper crawled in and stood up, walking towards the windowsill where he usually sat. Spy entered too, dusting off his coat as the Australian picked up his gun habitually. He opened the chamber and looked inside. As per regulation it was empty, like every gun on the base outside work hours. He heard Spy sigh as he sat on the rickety bed and reached inside his coat, pulling out a disguise kit and polaroid photos. He held the photos up. "You remember, oui, that envelope from the company the laboreur kept from us." "I guess we don't have much a right to read his mail, mate, but... I am dyin' of curiosity," Sniper admitted, resting his gun against the windowsill again. "There was a letter inside, and these photos," leaning over he handed them to the other man. Sniper sat back, looking at them. "What's this? Looks like a right big cockie," he lowered his sunglasses, looking at a photo. "I think it's a shoe." "Alroight then..." Fwip, the second photo came to hand and he jumped, staring at it, "Holy dooley, they're... they're havin' a naughty ain't they?" He switched to the last photo, "Aw, now that's kinda' sweet." He turned to Spy as the frenchman was writing something on a piece of paper and grumbled, "Can't say I ever wanted to see the ol' wowzer in the nuddy, now... Wotcha writin'?" "I am recalling the letter, so you can read it too." Scrawl, scrawl. "Photographic memory? I'm impressed." "It is as much an advantage as it is a burden, mon ami." Spy shivered once more. The Australian glanced at the pictures again and scratched his head, "These look recent, if I'm right about the lavatory. And the company sent 'em these? 'Wonder if they ever sent letters to the Doc?" "A good question, my friend. Here," arm extended, he passed Sniper the reconstructed letter. He took it and read it, humming quietly. Stopping at the end the Australian made a conflicted expression. "I thought spyin' was your job, mate. Didn't think the company'd go through all the trouble for this." "You do know expression of homosexuality is illegal in the military, oui?" "Yeah, but... Well anyway, this is interestin'. Better bring these back quick, right," Sniper handed the photos back to Spy and made a contemplative expression, scratching his chin. Spy took the reconstructed letter and burned it with his lighter, throwing the ashes out the window. While he put the pictures back in his coat pocket he and Sniper felt a bit excited.
â– â– â– â– â– â– When Spy and Sniper returned there was no fire, no smoke, but there was tension in the air. In the hallway outside Medic's office Scout and Soldier watched as the Engineer stormed through the door, throwing it closed behind him and hitting a disgruntled Medic. "Enginee'ah," Following, he tried to reach for him, but Engie would not comply. As Spy and Sniper approached the Engineer turned to them. "Y'all are my witnesses, ain'tcha." Sniper looked around before pointing to himself, "W-Wot?" Engie turned to the Medic and the German froze in surprise. And then with a nimbleness not typically expected from a man such as the Engineer, he grabbed the older man by the upper arm, "V-Vas-?!", turned and gave him a swift over-the-shoulder throw with a loud SLAM into the hard, wooden floor. Everyone jumped and froze in shock (except Scout, "Shit yeah!!") until Engie got up and silently walked away. When he was out of sight Sniper dashed to the doctor's side. "D-Doc!" He barely dared to touch him-- at his age Engie probably turned his bones into a fine dust. Medic wheezed, his breath shallow, an expression of agony, eyes squeezed shut, and coughed before daring to move. A hand reached up and jarringly grabbed Sniper's long face, "Do... not... touch me." Spy approached, standing over him, "Docteur, indeed the laboreur did not kill you." Soldier appeared overhead, "WHAT DO YOU NEED? STYPTIC? SUTURE? A CIGAR?!" Scout stood at his feet then, "Jeez Doc, hope you had some calcium in ya diet..." "Everyone..." Medic huffed and coughed again, "If it's not... too much trouble, I would like to be in my office." Operating with a surprising amount of teamwork, they lifted the doctor and brought him to the operating table past his office and Scout laid a cold cloth over his head. Medic's voice was barely a croak, "Thank you, junge, I do believe I'm beginning to have a migrane." "Man, doc, you musta did somethin' pretty bad for hardhat to lay the smackdown on ya..." He shifted, crossing his arms as Soldier stood silently at the end of the table. Sniper ran the nearby tap cold before putting a cup under it and had a double-take as he saw Spy thumbing through a filing cabinet. The Australian looked around before hissing, "Mate!" Spy turned to him and tapped his cigarette against the cabinet before continuing. The other man turned, bringing the cup of water to their injured doctor, and Spy pulled out another drawer and froze, moved closer, and froze again at the sight of a veritable mountain of brown envelopes from the company within. He flicked through them, opened one-- the letter inside was generally of the same caliber-- another then, and it merely said "WE MAY THREATEN YOU LEGALLY." Another one; "STOP." And another; "NO, YOU STOP." Piles of photos of Medic and the Heavy were inside-- inciminating, sensual, even explicit. He closed the shelf and turned to see everyone crowded around one side of the operating table. He joined them. "None of you... mein gott my head... none of you know how to administer an injection, do you." Nobody said anything. Scout glanced at Spy. "Lieber... Well, bring... my Medigun over. Hopefully if I... have a concussion or any... broken bones... it will heal them." Sniper stepped off, looking for it. "So?" The Spy took the cigarette from his lips and blew smoke, "What was this for?" He swept his arm briefly over the doctor. "Halt die klappe," the doctor croaked, "It was a personal streit... das geht dich nichts." "The fwuck does that mean?" Scout spat before Spy and Medic cut him off-- "None of your business." "Nothin's my business!" Scout wailed before walking out, "Gag me with a spoon, you assholes!" He flipped them all off and disappeared out the door. Soldier and Spy turned to Sniper as he returned, Medigun in arms. He held it like Medic would, "Check it out, mates," and pressed slightly awkwardly down the lever, CHOOM~! A beam hit Spy and he squeaked, feeling the warmth of the machine wash over him as Sniper stepped left and right, "Rauss, rauss ya yobbo!" Medic tensed visibly on the table, "Don't play with it you dummkopf!" "Well here you go, Doc," Sniper lifted the lever again while avoiding a lazy punch in his direction. He layed it on a nearby table with a thud and a clatter. "How're we gonna keep the lever down?" The Australian asked, "Can't get any duct-tape from Truckie." "Could use some gauze, I suppose," Spy offered. They found some and tied it together, looping it over the handle and under the gun. "Soldier," the weak voice of the Medic called. Solly saluted, "YES SIR." "Please... make sure... Engineer is alright, will you?" They looked at Medic quietly before Solly shouted, "SIR, YES SIR!" and turned to march out the door and down the hall. Spy and Sniper looked at each other. Then Spy felt a hand around his wrist. He looked down to the doctor. "Herr Spy... It's not worth it... to cast suspicion upon your own team." Both Sniper and Spy froze. Spy shrugged it off, "I don't know what you're talking about." Then they left, slightly spooked.
â– â– â– â– â– â– "Mate, this is gettin' dangerous, like before--" Sniper hastily explained to Spy before stopping in front of the doctor's office. Spy closed the door and continued walking with him. And then the Australian stopped again, looking at the floor, assumably where Medic had been tossed. Spy turned his attention too. Sniper pushed his foot down, felt the board move and heard it groan, "Well that's funny." They continued walking, "Oui, my friend-- I must return these photographs and then we shall call it quits. Wash our hands of this." In the distance down the hall they saw Soldier banging on the Engineer's door. The door opened, Engie pushed him aside and shouted at him, "Now today, y'all have been pushin' my buttons-- I'm usually a man of manners, but corner me and I'm like a fox! This should teach ya, dang-nabbit!" Soldier whined, "You don't mean that, Engie~!" And then a box spilled to the floor from the Engineer's arms, and Solly stood back, recognizing the sounds of a Sentry springing to life on the floor. He gasped and stumbled backwards, beginning to hastily make his way back down the hall double-time, past Spy and Sniper. They stood and watched the door slam shut, the sound of it locking muffled in the whirring and buzzing as the Sentry stood up. It beeped mindlessly and turned, searching for any brazen lifeform in the hall ahead. Spy's face turned into an expression of familiar distaste. Meanwhile the Sniper swayed slightly, looking at the mechanism just out of range and frowned, "...It ain't gonna really shoot at us, roight? I mean, we're friendlies. And there's no bullets on base, is there?" The Spy said nothing as his compatriot stepped forward, BEEP, CHUNK!, and a bullet clipped him right in the ribs, "GAAH!" He fell backwards, slamming into the floor, arms braced around his abdomen, "BLOODY MADMAN!" He groaned and kicked as the Frenchman bent, picking up a bullet and squeezed it in his fingers, "...Rubber." "That the truth now?" Lifting his hands the Australian inspected his decidedly bloodless wound, "Still smarts like a bloody badger bite." "I'm sure you'll live," some low laughter and Spy walked back down the hall to retrieve the Sapper from his room. When he returned the Sniper was still on the floor, his shirt open, watching as a blue bruise formed on his side. "What, they let you have that thing off-duty?" The Australian asked, looking up as Spy practiced some underhand swings. "Well, what can I do with it? Inspect it? Repair it?" Kghhhh, it slid along the floor, "...Use it against my team-mates?" The Sentry exploded into fiery shards and Spy put a finger to his lips as he and the Sniper heard a high-pitched wail from inside the Engineer's room, "WAAAAAAAAHH!!" Spy disappeared, then, in a red whisp before the door flew open, slamming against the wall. Engie stepped out, fuming. He turned to the Sniper on the floor and pointed at him, "Ain't ya got any respect?!" "It SHOT me, mate! You ever been shot with a rubba' bullet, ya bloody whacko?!" "For once in mah life, ah don't give a shit!" He picked up the pieces as Spy soundlessly slipped inside his room, "Just leave... me... alone, gawd-dammit!" Spy walked into the small space between the closet and the wall as the door slammed shut and the angry Texan turned, walked over, and dropped a pile of scrap metal on his desk with a BANG-KSHH! He growled, throwing open a blueprint and slammed an empty coffee-mug at the corner to keep it open, then, SLAM, a rock at the other side. Grumbling a moment, he stopped, his bald head rising in realization, "...Wait a minute... How in tarnation did Slim..." Apparently one of the pieces of metal he picked up was a Sapper. Spy quickly ducked back behind the closet as the Engineer stood up silently and turned around. His hand reached for his wrench and he brought it up, slowly walking from corner to corner of his room. He swung at one, hitting the wall. The Spy could barely contain his laughter as he watched the small man throw his wrench around in the empty spaces in his room-- under his bed, over his bed, under his desk. Spy soundlessly moved behind him as he approached the corner between the closet and the wall and swung his wrench there. He turned, waited, and turned again while the unseen frenchman stepped behind him, and slipped by unexpected lashes in his direction. He ducked, he wove. Finally giving up, the Engineer hung his wrench on a nail on the wall over his desk and gave a long sigh. Sitting back down he raised a pencil towards his blueprints and stared at the paper. Spy approached, looking over his shoulder. There was a single straight line on the blueprint, nothing more. Minutes passed as the Texan sat there, scratching his head every now and then, still staring at the paper. To Spy's surprise, the pencil slowly made its way to the blueprint, and then Engie froze. "Gahh!" Spy stood back as the Engineer threw his arms up in frustration, rubbing the sides of his head. After the Texan slumped over the desk, face pressed against the paper, Spy stepped closer again and heard him grumble to himself, "...Damn ol' fox." Dramatically, the Engineer then flung himself on his bed face-down and groaned with frustration into the pillow. Old fox? Spy thought. Suffice to say, he didn't quite understand. The photos-- and then the throw-- and then the other photos... Did they have a one-time thing and the laboreur was having a hard time cutting it off as just that? What with the wedding ring-- the Engineer was married, he supposed, and Medic may as well have been married as well... He then remembered he heard the old guy masturbating in his office earlier today. If he could be seen, the Spy's shiver would have been obvious. But double-crossing, oh my. Triple-crossing? Double-cheating cheat cheats, regardless. How he wanted to give a full-on guffaw at their predicament. Dusk fell as the Spy waited in the dark corner of Engie's room. Every now and then he'd hear a deep sigh from the other man as he lay in bed, and when he knew he was asleep, Spy silently opened his desk drawer and returned the photos.
â– â– â– â– â– â– In the warm morning, in the high-up lookout, Sniper lay in the disheveled, uncomfortable bed, half-asleep and vaguely listening to the quasi-distant sound of a purring Roadrunner. Turning, he felt another body on the bed next to him-- he woke up, startled, to find his friend, the Spy, asleep with his coat open, drooling on the bed near him. "...Googly moogly, mate..." He murmured, sitting up, "...Scare the shit outta me, will ya..." Spy then woke and sat up too, a hand against his back, "Ooh... mon ami, how do you sleep on this? My back." "Why're you in the bloody sack with me? AH!" He froze in agony from his side, "Crikey! ...Truckie's mean as cat's piss when he puts his big ol' brain to it. Gah." "I didn't sleep all night, you know," Spy croaked as the Sniper rolled out of bed to put his pants on, "I snuck out of his room in the morning, when he went for a shower. Oh, that reminds me," lifting one hand, "I need a shower," lifting another, "And tea." "Well, let's go make some brekkie, then," Sniper threw on his white t-shirt and sunglasses before they made their way down the long, long ladder and shuffled into the kitchen. Sniper stood next to the oven and brought out a frying pan. He thought for a moment, "...I'm in the mood for egg on toast. How about you, mate?" Spy was attentive at the fridge, yawning, "Aawwn~ Good." He reached into the coldness of the refridgerator, but the egg-carton inside was empty. The frenchman turned about and saw Soldier sitting at the table, and he was drinking two raw eggs from a glass. "Gulp~!" Spy twitched slightly before opening the drawers to find a suitably sharp knife-- a whisk, measuring cups-- none of the knives were clean. He growled under his breath-- Soldier, sitting back-on behind them, had no idea of his ever-building vengeful curse, certainly it was growing large enough to eventually topple and crush him like a rolling day-trip bus for senior citizens. "...Soon," the Spy hissed before Sniper interrupted his dramatics with an elbow to the chest. "Milk, mate, we're gonna make some french toast." Soldier left, off to perform some sort of military ritual after shouting and marching out the door. Spy felt tired, all this begrudging and not-sleeping was hard work. As they ate, Sniper stuffing himself thoughtlessly and Spy taking his time, the frenchman pulled out his disguise kit-- just two cigarettes left inside. "No eggs, and soon, no cigarrettes. I suppose it is good timing, the freight coming tomorrow." Spy made a meek expression towards his partner, "Oh... mon ami, you smell like a zoo." "Maybe we should both 'ave a shower," Sniper grumbled, grinning, and stood up to put water in the kettle. "Oh, make sure there's enough water for--" Spy's hand reached up, accidentally punching Sniper's side and causing the man to yelp in pain, "AH!" "Oh, oh my," Spy cringed as the Australian straightened up, shaking, one hand clasped against his ribs. "My apologies." "Holy... dooley..." wheezing, the ocker's back arched as he dropped the kettle on top of the oven, water splashing out. He coughed, hitting the dial to heat the coil, "...You ever been hit with a rubber bullet? Chroist..." "Well... no. But last year I was in Paris when, you know, de Gaulle fled the country..." drawing a cigarette from the kit, he continued, "A rubber bullet broke a window in my hotel room, hit the cieling, and destroyed a mirror in the armoire." "...Think I'm gonna see the doc after this, if he ain't cactus, I mean." Later they walked down the hall towards the doctor's office, and unfortnately they had no witnesses to what happened next-- as Spy walked with the Sniper behind him, they approached-- the floor gave a low moan, and before he could quite realize, the boards gave 'way beneath him with a SMAAAAASH! The frenchman wailed, "AHH~!" as much of his body below his shoulders disappeared into the blackness under the floor. Quickly as he could, Sniper ran to help him, "Jesus CHROIST mate!", pulling at his arms, but he slowly slipped, and fell into the dark. THUD! Sniper scrambled over the hole, "SPOI! MATE!" A moment, and then a low groan, "Ohh... Ohh~ I... I seem to be in one piece...Oh dear, what's this?" "What's what?!" "I landed on something. Oh my. Someone." "What?!" The Australian barked, "One seccy, lemme get a light--!" A voice called from the darkness, "A rope would be nice, too. You know, to get out." "Here, a flashlight!" Sniper dropped the flashlight inside and it hit Spy on the head, "Ah!! Think about these things!" "Sorry, mate! I'll go get some rope or summin'. Wait there!" Spy picked up the flashlight and rubbed his head, grumbling, "...Lucky I don't punch him in the butt again..." Click, the light blazed into the darkness. It was like a cave down there, just rock and dirt-- and a tunnel that swallowed the flashlight's beam like a big beastie mouth. He saw around him-- a dead end, red, broken wood around him, and then he felt a face under his hand. Slowly, curiously, he shined the light downward, and then his heart dropped into his stomach when he saw a visage far too suspiciously like his own.
I love it when I get the captcha wrong and everything disappears. And hey, this chapter is reason #2 that this is in afanfic. ■■■■■■A simple rope didn't fare well in lifting an unconcious man from a 8-foot deep hole in the ground, but working again with astounding teamwork, they managed to retrieve both Spies, and tie one to an operating table. Not the Red one. Scout and Pyro agreed to investigate the tunnel, and aside from Soldier throwing himself at Engie's door, that left Spy and Sniper to stare googly-eyed at their new captive in the doctor's quarters. Spy stepped around the table, his hard heels clopping against the stone floor and eyed the BLU Spy, his arms and ankles tied to the cold operating table. A hot light from overhead burned like a miniature white sun, clearly showing his features. "He looks so much like me," Spy cooed, vivid with curiousity, "I wish to touch his face. Would that be too strange?" "This whole thing is pretty bloody strange to me, mate," a grunt and Sniper stood up from the doctor's leather chair to walk closer. They both stared at him silently. Sniper pointed towards the BLU's face hesitantly, "Mate 'e's... even got yer crow nose." "Oh yes, my crow nose. Suppose, then, that BLU's Sniper has a horse-face and smells like an outhouse?" "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were crackin' onto me, what talkin' all sweet about my face and how I smell. Bloody dickhead..." Spy laughed to himself, "Hon hon," before their doctor returned from a door beyond the office with a few pieces of paper in his hands. He coughed and stopped to bend back a bit, cracking his back, and sighed before approaching Sniper. "What's the news, doc?" "Well, you see here," Medic grumbled, pointing at the x-ray sheet in his hand, "Enginee'ah's given you a fractured--" he quickly grabbed Sniper's side playfully, "--Rib," whilst the ocker gasped, trying to move away. The German drifted away and lodged the sheets on his desk, giving a sarcastic smile, "Now we have something in common, Australier." "Truckie hates us er what?" "No," a grin, "He gave both of us fractured ribs. Come over here, I shall heal it," He picked up his Medigun from a nearby table, a dozen papers sliding over in the meantime, and pointed it towards Sniper. "Raise your arms," He ordered, and the Australian obeyed. A healing beam hit him from the gun with a warm hum. "...You can pretend I'm a chicken, if y'want," Sniper grumbled before spinning on the spot and making obnoxious squeaking noises with his husky voice, "EEK... EEK... EEK..." Medic looked towards Spy and smiled condescendingly "All my patients are such model citizens, aren't they." Spy noticed the man next to him move, shift-- he stared as the BLU slowly gained conciousness. Sniper and Medic soon rushed over, Medigun placed on the doctor's desk, and they observed as the man tied to the table blinked, saw their faces and gave a vicious frown. "Guten morgen, herr BLU," Medic chimed, walking out of sight for a moment to shove papers, move a table. The BLU shot them all stabby glances, "Mon dieu, I had a feeling this would happen!" "What, get 'napped by REDs?" Sniper asked, "If I was under ya' base I'd be pretty worried about that 'appenin' too." "I've been curious," RED Spy commented, "We have not met before, monsieur." "Oh yes, my insignificant other," a hiss from the table-bound frenchman, "Brûle en enfer!" Spy just grinned, shrugging, "My reputation preceeds me." "Tu débile mental, everyone knows the RED Spy is a vicious, uncouth psychopath! What will you do now? Pull my teeth out? Cut my head off and ask it questions?!" The RED Spy huffed, taken aback, "Oh please, I'm the sentimental one!" "Ladies," Sniper grumbled, not quite believing what was happening as the argument continued, "Ladies." "Well," the red-dressed frenchman turned, "If we're going solely on reputation, you two should get along just fine, oui?" Sniper's brows knit, "I d'n even know what you're talkin' about, mate!" "Of course not! AH!" "What the-!" Medic stepped over and slapped both his teammates, "Be good boys, lieber himmel." The German turned as the other two REDs rubbed their faces, "I do believe we have met before, when you said it was... 'nothing personal'? ...So? What have you heard about our Medic?" His face lit up with a wide grin. Silence then, as the BLU watched the doctor take a syringe from a nearby tray. "...There is little point for us to try to force words from you, mein blaurose-- you being a Spy, I suppose it would be very hard to torture information out of your mouth," he flicked the syringe and pushed some fluid from it, "But I being... a very sick, sick man-- which I'm sure you've heard-- I do at least want to try." The BLU shifted uncomfortably, as death would lead him simply back to his own base, he was quite sure they would not let him expire anytime soon. The doctor came ever-closer, "This is one of my very own concotions-- one that similarily produces the symptoms of something I know far too well..." A pulled back shirt sleeve, and some silence before the doctor continued with his injection, "You see... I have a..." he pushed the fluid through the vial, "...easily... excited libido... Every day my body... screams at me to make love." The syringe was laid aside and the BLU struggled again in his restraints, hissing like a snake, "Fou! Fou! Aliéné mental!" "One could describe myself as being... 'hyper-sexual,' I suppose," Medic stood back, thoughtfully crossing his arms, "And being a man attracted to other men... it makes living in this world quite difficult. Every now and then we capture your team-mates and although none of you remember these things after your respawn..." Sweat started to dampen the Spy's chest, face, palms. He writhed, beginning a tortured panting as the drug took effect. Medic grinned, "...For a few moments, at least... I'm not alone in my suffering." The two other REDs in the room, standing in a shadow near the wall, their googly blue eyes staring out at the scene before them, didn't dare to speak as their doctor laughed to himself. "Mnh...!" Continuing to writhe painfully, the BLU squeezed his eyes shut against the white-hot electric pangs in his belly, the throbbing surging through his body, centering in his groin, "What do you... intend to do!? Fuck me?!" "Oh, don't flatter yourself," Medic giggled, amused, "You are really not my type." In a moment the writhing frenchman produced a painfully tight erection, pushing against the fabric his suit-pants quite uncomfortably. He panted, breath hot, and tossed his head to the side, unable to still a desperate moan. Meanwhile the Medic pulled up a stool to sit next to him, lean against the operation table and read a book. The BLU's fingers clawed towards him as well as they could as he swallowed gracelessly, "Ngh...Please... Oh, monsieur...!" Medic sat up somewhat, curious, "Ja~?" "Hoh... Please... B-Bitte!" The doctor laughed, "Ooh-hoo! You're not yourself right now, are you?" "...Fick..." "Yes?" "...Fick dich...!" "Ahh," Medic sighed disappointedly, turning back to the book in his hand. On the other side of the room, Sniper and the other Spy agreed to leave because things were getting slightly awkward. The door closed behind them. "Oh please, monsieur," the BLU strapped to the table begged, "I... I'll tell you, what the tunnel is for, oh... please!" "Do you promise?" Medic asked, as if he were asking a child. The Spy nodded. "Well then, tell me." "Non, you must... open my belt, please..." A sigh and the German complied. He might as well, if he felt like it he could just give the frenchman another injection. He pulled at the belt, slipping the leather through metal, clink-clink. A hand so near his groin was of a maddening anguish. "Here you go," the Spy's fly was unzipped and the man gave a love-sigh at the relief, however slight. "Come... come closer," he panted. Medic rolled his eyes and leaned over the operating table, his ear close to the other man's face. There was whispering, and Medic blinked, thought a moment, and sat back down. "Well... That's interesting." Outside the door Sniper and Spy heard an ear-shattering cry as the BLU climaxed, assumably. Spy turned to his partner, "You and I. We do not speak of this, oui?" "Yeah, mate," Sniper nodded, pressing his lips in a straight line.
■■■■■■Whenever someone passed by the doctor's office they heard much of the same; "Please, no more injections! Stop this!" "Nein, nein, you must tell me more. More." "Oh grâce, have mercy! Grâce! IyaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" RED's Spy flinched, a slight twich under his eye as he stood at the hole in the floor not too long from said office and looked downwards into the darkness below. Sniper looked up at him from deep down and flashed a torchlight in the frenchman's eyes whist he squinted, bringing a hand up. "It just goes and goes, mate. From the sounds of things," he waved his arm towards the inside of the tunnel, "it goes straight to the BLU's base." Scout ran up next to the Australian, covered in dirt, "Hey, get us somethin' to eat, freeloader!" "Here you go," expression flat, the frenchman stretched out his arm over the boy and tapped his cigarette on his finger. Scout whipped his face to the side and coughed, "Asshole," before turning down the tunnel again. "So?" Spy asked, "What shall we do about it?" "Guess we'll just stuff it up and wait til' Demo gets back to collapse the bloody thing," cracking his fingers Sniper approached the newly-implicated rope ladder and climbed. Meanwhile Spy douted his last cigarette and mourned his empty case. Aside from the terrible screaming and tunnel-stuffing (stuffing with what? Ahh, a web of broken, red wood and spare bricks) nothing else of much note happened that day-- and in the early morning the sound of a train came over the wasteland, long, long cries of the exhaust and an endless trail of steam. The team stood outside at the recieving bay as the train stopped and after some moments the doors opened and everyone moved to transport crates inside the base. Aside from Spy, that is, who stood back in the shadows until he saw a box with cigarettes in it, then he was all over that shit. When Medic saw the Heavy they caught eyes, stepped toward each other and embraced warmly. The german sighed into the other man's collar and smiled, big, warm arms holding him tight. "Was Doktor lonely?" "Mmh, feels like... years have passed, liebchen. It's so good to see you again." They separated and Heavy smoothed a big hand over the doctor's head as he closed his eyes and gave a quaint smile. Teamwork again brought the crates in the supply room, and everyone shared around some food and talked to each other. Medic did not deign to speak to Heavy about the Engineer, but he did not forget to speak of the Spy trapped in his office-- or he was about to tell him when someone gave the Medic a few beers and the russian, a long kiss in the hallway. He stumbled into his office as the Demoman passed by, hopping into the hole in the floor to blow the passage to smithereens as he was ordered. The doctor looked around, "Oh..." Heavy stepped in as well, "...Where is Spy?" The table was empty. The restraints, hastily cut into pieces. Right, making getaways was probably something a Spy would be talented in. "I don't know, ahah!" There was some widespread paranoia after discovering this fact-- where he was gone, he musn't have been far. The RED Spy took it upon himself to play the Spy versus Spy game. He took a (unfortunately quite blunt) kitchen knife and dragged the Sniper with him-- two versus one and all that, and they descended into the hole that lead to the BLU base. "Y'think he's down here, mate?" "Well, what would I do? There are cameras everywhere. Might as well return the way he came." They continued, through the tunnel some and heard the Scotsman ahead singing to himself. Footprints, those of a pair of expensive loafers went ahead and there was a sound of electricity-- Spy stopped, Sniper bumping into him, when he head the familiar snap-crackle of a malfunctioning cloaking device. A disheveled, wild Spy appeared in blue mist, and he turned, making a terribly desperate frown at his persuers. RED Spy reached for the steak knife in his coat, but a gun was first pointed at him. Sniper froze as well, and second-guessed his knowledge of the so-called bullet ban. The Blue Spy coughed, wiping his mouth and fixing his coat-- the white shirt inside had been cut open somewhat and his tie was missing. A slice went up through his mask, not much revealed but the peach of a cheek bone underneath. The hammer pulled back, crick, "...I have my knowledge-- what I need, and if I kill you both, it will take you 30 seconds to return, remember why you were down here, and I will already be gone by the time the panic hits you." "And if we kill you," the Red Spy grinned, "You will remember nothing of this past day." Sniper twitched and the revolver pointed at his head, "Ah-ah-- I have not eaten in an entire day, the only sleep, my blacking out from your cursed, insane doctor's torture," the BLU slapped a hand against his chest, angry but in control, "Have you ever ejaculated six times in a day? It is only any sort of heavenly to a base, idiot teenager! I have not the energy!" Sniper squinted, "Thought you were some kinda' lady-killer." "Your Medic and his syringes are no lady, mon ami." Just a moment, and then BOOM, a slug from the BLU's revolver splattered a hole in the Sniper's head, and he fell back soundlessly, slumping to the ground as his compatriot slunk in less than a second and threw himself full-force at his double, knocking the man to the ground. They wrestled, grunting, dirt on them, and with the steak knife, ("Good god, what am I doing," he thought for a moment) the RED Spy slashed the Revolver from his opponent's grasp. They rolled, and said knife was cast from his hand as fingers wrapped around his wrist and brought it down like a comet on a rock next to his head. Struggling, a hand on the BLU's throat, the disheveled Spy tore a knife from his coat to stab the RED, lifted his arm overhead, ready bring it down on him with a world of spite but then-- BOOOOOOOOOM~!! The passage shuddered, the Engineer's room above shook like an earthquake while he wailed helplessly, rocks fell like a waterfall far ahead in the tunnel, and a wave of the strongest wind brought a hail of stones, dirt and a wall of dust-- and something else was caught in it, a glinting object, flung like a bird, spinning, and lodged like a lion's tooth in the back of the BLU Spy. He gasped, his entire body taut. His enemy lay under him, an arm over his face, bewildered before the other man fell on him. "I... just... wanted to see Rouen... once more," he softly said before the life left him completely. Shoving him off, the RED inspected his offender-- his own Balisong stood buried between his enemy's shoulderblades. His face slowly contorted into a terrible, incredulous smile. "Ah... Ahah... Ahahahahaha! AHAHAHAHAHAHA! OH OH, snort, OHAHAHAHAHA!!"
Last chapter! â– â– â– â– â– â– After all was said and done, when the BLU's body disappeared, when Sniper spawned again, when the events were told to the rest of the team, a few were in disbelief (Scout seemed to think the Spies were in cahoots), most of them were congratulatory, but also drunk, and they all built a fire outside, sat around it in mismatching chairs and stools and talked and drank in the warm light. Medic turned his head to see the Engineer approaching, guitar in hand. He was greeted, he greeted, and sat near the doctor while everyone else continued their liveliness among themselves. The Texan took a beer from a crate and opened it to take a swig. Licking his lips he rested the bottle on the ground and picked up his guitar to check its tuning. Strumming some, he looked at the doctor. Medic was quiet before he asked, "...How are things?" "Aw, fine doc. Considering my room is now on a slant, I guess it could be better." Tum~ tum~ Engie stopped a moment to pass Medic an envelope. Taking it in hand, he opened it and recognized its contents-- he hummed and took out the photos to look at them. "Ooh," he said softly, "Sexy, I like that one." "Didja read the letter?" "Oh, I already know what it says." Medic folded up the contents, put it in the envelope, folded the enveope in half and tossed it in the fire. Engie stared, surprised. "The company is required by law to send these letters. It doesn't mean anything, they're just covering for themselves, you see. So if anyone finds out, they can say 'we told you so!'" "Ya don't say!" Engie was genuinely surprised. All that worrying, for nothing. He gave a soul-deep sigh and turned to his guitar again, giving it a few strums before starting to play a song. "...Oh, the sun's gonna shine in my, life once more..." Medic interrupted, "Is that by a... popular artist in America?" "Now, Medic," Engie grinned, "If you dunno who Buck Owens is, I'm afraid we can't be friends." "Teach me, and we can still be friends," the german laughed. Sniper called to the doctor from the other side of the fire, and Spy turned as well, "Hey, doc." "Yes?" Straightening up, Medic replied. "The Spook ever tell ya what the tunnel was for?" "Oh yes, he did." Everyone was quiet and curious, expecting an answer. "He said the BLUs were trying to escape." Heavy turned to him, "Escape?" "Teufort. They wanted to leave the war." â– â– â– â– â– â– And that's the end, for now, I guess. Maybe I'll come back in another year and write a part three, lol.
I can't even express how much I love your Sniper/Spy. Every scene with the two of them was just golden. And the 'hon's and *snorts*... ffff christ. Loved it. My only critique would have been the formatting, but you fixed that up pretty well-- the paragraphs are broken up nicely, but maybe don't put every sentence on a new line? This one read better than last year's prequel, too. Next year sniper and spy bromance, kk?
>>16 this. Platonic bromance is its own beautiful thing. My only objection is the opposite about the formatting... gah, my eyes have been weird lately, though. I suggest making longer paragraphs, and having a space between each one.
>>17 The paragraphs don't need to be longer. Just double space between every line of dialogue. It's pretty much the standard for online fiction.