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No. 393
Every repost is a repost repost. By Pippers.

--

I, uh, I think I posted this once, but then deleted it like five seconds after?
Not sure why.
It's sort of a continuation of that "Spy & You" thing I did in /afic/, except there's nothing porny here.
I feel really cheesy for writing this but, uh, here you go. :T

--------

You catch spy again, a few days later, in the intelligence room of the fort. He’s alone of course, spinning around in some erratic circle that you can’t quite describe. His arms are up, his eyes are closed, what the hell is he doing?

You realize he’s dancing. Quite well, actually, and not erratically at all. He’s waltzing with some invisible partner. He’s even got music playing in the background. (French, undoubtedly.)

You stand in the entryway, sort of looking at him while trying to hide. He seems to be in his own little world, anyway. (Something you’ve rarely seen him do.)

The song ends and he bows slightly to whoever he was dancing with – probably an old girlfriend – and stretches, making some offhand comment about you being good at dancing. He pops a cigarette into his mouth and takes a long drag, covering part of the room in the smoky haze you’re so used to.

You pause. Wait a minute. Did he just compliment you?

You smile a little (the smile you get when you’re happy but don’t want anyone else to know), and stand there a while longer, watching him sit in the chair no one ever seems to use and put his feet up on the table. He’s not facing you. Maybe he hasn’t seen you yet.

But of course he has. He’s got a godly sense for that sort of thing; it’s probably why he’s such a damn good spy in the first place. The real question is why he hasn’t addressed you yet. You pick at your nails a bit, nervously, and wait for a little while longer. Being the first to speak would be like admitting you were just watching him. Creepy.

A new song starts playing, and Spy begins to hum softly as he swivels the chair around a bit listlessly. All you can see of him now is a part of the back of his head.

So he takes off his mask. You pause for a moment, rubbing your eyes. Did he really just do that? You’ve never seen him take the damn thing off before. Your heart thumps loudly in your chest.

Turn around, turn around…

He clears his throat lightly and you jump, standing bolt upright with your hand over heart, checking for the heart attack you know you’re going to have. The guy’s sneaky even when he’s sitting right in front of you. His brown, slightly messy hair is visible from where you’re standing. He doesn’t, however, turn the chair to face you.

“Bonjour, petite,” He says, flicking some ash from his cigarette onto the intelligence briefcase sitting nearby. You clear your throat, buying yourself some time. What do you say to that?

“Uh, hi,” you say. It’s nowhere near as elegant a greeting, but it’s all you can manage. He always makes you lose your ability to speak.
“You were here the whole time, weren’t you,” he says. It’s not a question. He just knows.
“Yeah,” you begin. “It was beautiful, though. Spy, you’re so talented, I-“
He shushes you quickly, which proves to be a very effective technique; you say nothing for quite a while, and instead stand there wringing your hands nervously. It’s only now that you consider he may just kill you for intruding. His secrets are more important than anyone else’s. It’s his job.

But there you are, so close to seeing his actual face, his real, probably ridiculously handsome face. You’ve wanted to see it for a long time. He continues again after.
“Don’t tell anyone you saw me down here, cherie,” he mutters. “I get called ‘gay’ enough already. They don’t need to know that I can dance, as well.”
He takes a drag and exhales, though it sounds more like a sigh. He’s upset now.

“Spy, I don’t see what the problem is. Everyone else might be impressed,” you offer. You’re certainly impressed. “They’re you’re teammates and all. You can tell them stuff.”

He puts his mask back on, and you let out a small sigh – there goes your chance at seeing him – and he swivels the chair around in one smooth motion, facing you for perhaps the first time. He rubs his eyes before looking at you. A bit of ash drops from his cigarette to the floor. The song playing stops, and for a moment all you can hear are the beeps within the room coming from gadgets you’d never even heard of before. The next song starts, an opera.

Spy stands and stretches his legs, cracking his back and tossing his cigarette into some corner of the room. His jaw is set firmly and his brows are furrowed.
“I can’t tell them a thing,” he says. No pet names this time.
“You don’t trust us,” you say, casting your eyes to the floor briefly. He says nothing again, and you know it’s true.

You focus on a bit of hair that’s peeking out of his mask, hurt that he won’t even show you what he looks like, not even after how long you’ve known each other. Not even after your previous encounter…

“You’d kill all of us if you were given enough incentive, wouldn’t you?” You wring your hands again, venturing into dangerous territory. “You don’t care about us at all.”
You almost don’t want to hear the answer, but you’re not sure what’s making you say these things at all. You’ve never been so upset about a teammate before. Yes, you cared for all of them like family, but this… this was something else. Your heart is pounding again, and you feel a bit sick.

Answer, Spy, answer me. God damn it.

He takes a sharp breath and holds it in for a moment. Thinking again. How could he think about something like that? It’s a yes or no question. It calls for an immediate answer. Either you’re with you’re team or you’re not, and-

“Oui,” He says finally, adjusting his tie. “Yes, if I were given a good reason I would murder all of them. I don’t feel any sort of obligation to them, really.”

Cold as ever. You smile a bit, in spite of yourself and in spite of your trembling.

“And me?”

He pauses again and tilts his head, smiling that bemused smile of his. He might be mocking you, or he might be genuinely concerned. It’s impossible to tell.

“Non, mon ami,” he says. “Engineer, yes. Sniper, of course. Scout, definitely. Like I said, I would hurt all of them if I had to.” He takes another cigarette from its case and puts it into his mouth, tapping his heel against the floor. The song’s almost over.

“But not you, petite. Never you.”
Marked for deletion (old)
>> No. 2403
Ah... I love this = )
>> No. 2406
I completely support this. It inspires me. I'd love to see more of this if you've got it!

Only one thing to critique - "you're" and "your" gets confused a bit at points. That's only flaw I could find.
>> No. 2408
ahh, so cute. Please continue.
>> No. 2414
i d'awwwwed
I hope there will be more
>> No. 2418
I would die happy if there were more
>> No. 2511
rearly nice work right there.
goddamit continue!!
>> No. 2558
This is adorable. Can you continue this? :D
>> No. 2560
This made me go "c:" IRL.
>> No. 2642
oh i really wanna know who's talking to the spy :DDDD


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