--
Act 2.
Team Fortress 2 and its characters belong to Valve. Rated T(F2chan) for language, violence, and suggestive themes.
--

"That Scout's a bloody Sp--" he wrenched his knife out of the Blu Demoman's neck, glancing around rapidly to the sound of running footsteps. Quickly he cloaked and darted from the room just as a Blu Heavy charged in and sprayed the scene with overpriced bullets. It'd been two weeks since his encounter with the Sniper back at base, two long weeks of fighting and bloodshed. And for what? For the briefcase..

He felt its standard handle through the material of his gloves.

A simple, mundane little briefcase with the Blu team logo. Inside, he knew, were bits of information precious to the Red struggle. Perhaps the blueprints to the Blu's new weaponry? Their members had been out-shooting Red terribly as of late, almost as if their firepower had been upgraded! Perhaps this little briefcase would enlighten them as to how..

But the Spy couldn't think of that now, already he felt his cloak wearing down as a Pyro rounded the corner ahead of him. He pasted himself to the wall and prayed to go unseen. ..phew. The Pyro charged after a Red Scout instead, missing the Spy entirely as he adjusted the cigarette clutched between his lips and slipped around the corner toward the Red base. He drew a long inhale, letting the smoke lay in his throat for a short while before exhaling it and starting to run. One last open area and he would be home free. One last.. PEW! A bullet cut into the ground right next to his foot, tearing a size-able hole into the ground upon entry.

He veered leftward, taking cover behind a crate as more and more bullets peppered the area. Daring to peek, he found a Heavy laughing maniacally and continuing his barrage on the Spy's hiding place. Rapidly the crate was deteriorating and a few of the projectiles even penetrated the wood on the other side! Crouching low, the Spy held up the briefcase as a shield and looked around desperately for escape. Suddenly the firing stopped. He glanced around the ravaged crate and then upward to see.. Oh please.

A Red Sniper was waving at him from a tower up behind where the Heavy, now laying dead, had been. What dumb luck.. Wait a moment. He squinted, making out a familiar smirk. THAT Sniper?

Before his shock could get him killed, the Spy gathered himself up and bolted once again. A few shot at him upon seeing the briefcase. A Pyro even charged after him, setting the ground on fire with his flare gun though the Spy easily leapt over the flames with his lean body. Now confidant, he smirked and drove himself up out of harm's way just inside the doorway to one of the Red base's hangars. Looking back at the battlefield, he watched his pursuers get picked off one by one by the Sniper and one of the Red's Demomen.

However, just as he turned to head inside, he saw the telltale smoke trail of a Soldier's rocket heading toward the Sniper's tower. He observed the nose of the man's rifle jolting and slipping back inside just before the rocket hit. But.. it was perhaps too late. The rickety building shuddered, the entire roof blowing off with the explosion and sending planks of wood high into the air..

"Yeehaw!" came a sudden voice from behind him. Turning sharply, the Spy found himself faced with a Red Engineer who had pushed open the door for him. "Looks like we got ourselves the briefcase! Nice work!" Wordlessly, the Spy stepped inside, shutting his eyes and walking with purpose toward the briefing room with the case solidly under one arm, "Oui."

That evening the team gathered to discuss the findings. Not many showed up, only those interested in the current politics of the fight. Many preferred to simply do their jobs and be done with it, choosing to sleep and relax over planning the next attack. The Red Spy was rather glad for this -- less people, less explanation.

"And so, now zhat we have zheir intellijhence it should be no problem for our Engineers and Demomen to place us at an even level with zhe enemy," he said, gesturing about with a lit cigarette and turning his back on the small group. "Are zhere any questions?" "You deserve a medal, Spy!" piped up a Soldier. He smiled bitterly to that, nodding subtly as he turned and glanced between the men. No questions then.. "Zhen zhis meeting is adjourned."

With the documents locked safely in a.. safe, the Spy was free to head to his quarters. He did so quietly as he did with everything else, his footsteps soft and subdued in the barracks hallway. He couldn't shake it from his mind. That Sniper.. The triumphant smile he'd given followed by that damned rocket blowing it right off his face. There was no way he could have possibly survived. ..unless.

Pausing just outside his door, card key in hand, a tickling curiosity came to him. What if.. No way. No one could have survived a blast like that unless they were extremely light on their feet and had a direct plan for escape. They'd need to be attentive and have a.. a sharp eye for detail. ..they'd have to be a Sniper -- or a Spy.

He stuffed his card key back into his suit, turning to walk up the hall toward the medical bay.

The Medic was incredibly busy tonight. Suturing wounds, knocking people unconscious, bandaging lost limbs.. He mopped his brow for the umpteenth time that night, cussing in thick German under his breath as he washed his gloved hands once again. He was so busy tending his numerous patients that he barely noticed or cared that a Red Spy had entered the room. He pushed right past the lanky man, not so much as a brief 'pardon me' escaping his lips.

He didn't mind it much, no doubt the Medic was dealing with a lot of stress.. The Spy's calm eyes panned the room, landing on the Medic's clipboard which had been left out on the counter. It wasn't long before he was thumbing through it and reading the list of patients and their ailments. Scout, head trauma. Heavy, torso impale wound. Pyro, 3rd degree burns? He paused, lifting an eyebrow to that. Sniper, broken leg, arm, burns.. The Spy nearly read right past it, eyes moving back up to examine the rather painful list. Sniper? Well.. There were several on the team. But such a collection of injuries.. Could it be a coincidence? He felt his insides flutter at the concept.

The Spy dropped the notes and moved further into the room, attentive eyes scanning his fallen teammates in search of a specific.. "Aw, bloody 'ell.." Following the sound of that groan, it wasn't long before the Spy arrived at the bedside of the Sniper who uttered it. He could tell the man was in a good deal of pain aside from the bandages and supports which sustained him. His hat was removed and clutched in one hand over his chest while the other remained bound up in gauze.. He stared down toward the foot of his bed, eyes tired behind those tinted sunglasses. Even his clothing was damaged, burn marks apparent on his vest and sleeves.

"Monsieur?"

Startled, the Sniper cringed, hurting himself a tad in the process and fixing the Spy with an annoyed glare. Upon recognizing him, however, he visibly relaxed and stared for a little while. "Well, well.. Oye wasn't expectin' any visitors todai." "Indeed.." said the Spy, gaze distracted for a moment. Was he embarrassed? Should he have been? "I wanted to.. zhank you for today. You were key in obtaining zhe briefcase. I do not zhink the others are aware of zhat."

"G'aw," said the Aussie, waving his hat dismissively, "Oy'm just doin' my job, mate. Besides, we're on the same team. You know I look out for everybody." "Huh!" the Spy sounded amused. Apparently the rest of the team did not share that sentiment. "What's so funny?" asked the Sniper, brow arched over his glasses. "Ah it's.. It's nothing."

Humming suspiciously, the Sniper replaced his hand at his chest and wiggled in a feeble attempt to get comfortable; it seemed nearly impossible on this makeshift medical cot. "Yea, well.. Glad I could help. Is that it then? Shouldn't you go get some rest for tomorrow?" He didn't appreciate being laughed at, much less after saving someone's ass and sacrificing his own.

The Spy looked a bit stumped, trying to play himself off cooly as he stepped away and came back dragging a chair behind him. Turning it about, he sat backwards on it at the Sniper's bedside and relaxed his arms over the spine of it. "You forget zhat I am a Spy. My usefulness to zhe team seems to end once everything is obtained from an enemy base.. Zhose documents should keep Red occupied for some time. I am sure zhe other classes can handle any intruders.." "So you're off-duty then?" "In a manner of speaking."

The Sniper went quiet for a little bit, looking around the room listlessly while the Spy simply chilled beside him. "Huh.. Well the Medic's not gonna like you millin' around like a kangaroo in 'is office. Best make yourself useful." The Spy tilted his head a bit in question. Useful? But he wasn't a doctor. He wouldn't know the first thing about helping someone with their injuries much less-- "I am dying for a cup of coffee. Think you can help me out, mate?" Oh. Coffee. "..but of course," came the startled Spy's reply. He got awkwardly to his feet and, casting an amused look down at the wounded Sniper, moved off to go and prepare it for him.

"Light on the sugar," he heard called after him, the quaint words putting a smirk on the Spy's masked face. The Sniper grinned happily to himself, pumping his fist with a sense of triumph only to realize he'd done so with his broken arm, "God save the Gr-- Agh! Ow.."

The Medic finally rinsed his hands for the last time, peeling off his gloves and replacing them with a fresh pair as he looked around the room. Many of the stay-in patients were stable now and only two had died. A record! Most everyone was asleep at this point though he did catch sight of the Spy and Sniper conversing. Huh.. How strange to see those two interacting.

While he awaited the return of the Spy, the Sniper heard heavy steps approaching him before the nozzle of the Medic's health gun slid into view. The Sniper squinted at it and then peered up at the German physician who held it. "Thought you said only one charge a day for everyone?" "Ja, vhell you are lucky today. Two of zhe men have died before reaching my care und so their charges have gone unused. Isn't zhat vohnderful?!" The Sniper wasn't sure what to make of the grin on the man's face, but he wasn't going to complain about free help..

"Now, hold still, zhis vhill only sting a little bit.." The Sniper nodded, attempting to lay as still as possible. He knew what the gun did, vaguely. It could rebuild tissue and strengthen both skin and bone when fully charged. At the end of the night, he knew, the gun's power would be weakened. That's how they worked. You charged them every night and used them throughout the day like flashlights with batteries. But what the gun could not do was replace or repair things that weren't present. One of their Demomen had learned that the hard way with his eyeball..

Luckily all of the Sniper's bits and pieces were present, they merely required repair after the doctor had realigned his bones by hand. A mixture of old-fashioned medicine and futuristic technology.. Astonishing, really. He was lost in his thoughts at the moment the doctor pulled back the lever and a stream of red energy sunk into his side. The Sniper jolted on the bed and hissed in a breath. His arm and leg bones snapped into place and sealed together, the burns on his skin seeming to evaporate. And while this mystical healing method seemed to repair instantly, what it left a patient with was incredible soreness and phantom pains..

Shutting off the device, the doctor smirked at the grimace on the Aussie's face, "Aww," he taunted, "Dat vhasn't so bad, vhas it, Fraulein?" The Sniper choked a bit, reaching over to pat the man's arm, "Good job, mate. Thanks a bunch," he rasped. The Medic merely laughed and headed away to use his last charge on one of the more critical patients.

The Spy returned and eyed the medic as he walked past him, pausing near the Sniper's cot and startling when the coffee was suddenly snatched from his hands. "Ah! Careful with zhat, it's. It's hot. Hey!" The Aussie clearly wasn't even listening, taking a heavy swig of the boiling hot beverage and swallowing with blatant disregard for the Spy's warnings. The Sniper desperately needed something to distract him from the pain in his limbs and what better way than scalding hot coffee? He flopped back against his pillow with a relieved groan and used his half-gloved index finger to wipe off his mouth. A smirk formed upon it, "Ah.. Now that's a nice cup of joe.." "Very polite, I see," commented the Spy.

Turning his chair sideways, he sat down and rested one arm on the spine. He gestured with the other, "I see your friend has fixed you up a bit?" "Yea, mate. Magic medicine gun n' all that. Hold this for me would you?" "Uh," uttered the baffled Frenchman, the coffee mug suddenly back in his hand as the Sniper plunked his hat onto his head and began unwrapping his gauze jovially. "That was a right lucky dodge, I'll say. Coulda been dead today." "Indeed.." The sniper chuckled, taking the mug back and curling his sore arm behind his head as he hiked his good leg and took another sip of coffee.

Noting this relaxed posture, the Spy procured his recently re-obtained cigarettes and took to lighting one. He began puffing at it when the Sniper spoke again, "Now how do you like that? We're both addicted." "How do you mean?" The Sniper merely lifted his mug, causing the Spy to peer at his cigarette and then shrug as he exhaled a bit of smoke and placed it back in his mouth.

"Heheh.. Go on then, why're you really here? Spies don't make house calls unless they're out to kill somebody and I didn't taste any poison in this brew." Frowning, the Spy allowed his cig to droop slightly, "..it is as you said. We are on zhe same team and I thought I should zhank you for your help." "Izzat all?" "..and for saving my life, I suppose." "And?" Puff, puff. "And.. my cigarettes," he added after a moment, ushering a laugh from the Sniper. "Hah! That's blinkin' brilliant.. See, I knew you weren't half bad." "Non?"

"Nah; everybody says you Spies are a bunch've two-faced, cowardly wankers, but I've seen you on the field -- I've seen everyone. You've plenty of kills for us, you got into their base -- you even happened on the briefcase today. And.. you make a damn good cup of coffee. You can't be that bad, roight?" "I suppose not," the Spy admitted, a touch of red forming behind his mask.

"So how 'bout it then, mate? Friends?" The Sniper extended a hand. The Spy blinked stupidly at it and then fixed the man with a sour look of professionalism, "Having friends eez what gets a man killed in war, Monsieur Sniper." "Roight, roight.. But you said you're off duty." He wagged his hand a bit, attempting to coax the Spy who, slumping his shoulders slightly, took the Aussie's hand and gave it a ginger shake, "Atta boy. Wazzat so hard?" "I must apologize. Friendship is not.. usual in my class." "Hah, no doubt. But why botha fighting together if we don't all get along, eh? Kind of makes the victory feel shallow, dunn'it?"

--
Act 3.
Team Fortress 2 and its characters belong to Valve. Rated T(F2chan) for language, violence, and suggestive themes.
--

That question sat in his head for the next few days.

The Sniper and Spy parted ways and spent their time separately. The Spy helped to decode the encrypted information in the pilfered briefcase while the Engineering team attempted to make sense of the resulting blueprints. The Demolition team went about procuring the needed explosives and parts and it seemed all was going well on the project.

The first few days after the theft were met with heavy resistance as expected. Wave after wave of Blu Soldiers and Scouts and Heavies stormed the base though few if any made it past the well-placed Snipers.. A Spy or two sat guard inside the main foyers, each tending to their knives and pistols before using them to pick off any Blu stragglers who made it inside.

As the days wore on, however, Blu ceased its infiltration attempts. Red was simply too good at defending and throwing men away would solve nothing. So, with that in mind, an uneasy silence fell over the battlefields as both teams waited to see what the other would do next.

"Wonder what those Blu bastids are thinkin'," one of the Scouts mused to the Demoman beside him. They were eating lunch, as it happened. "I bet they're thinkin' by God we're lucky we doon't have that bloody annoying Scoot on our side." He took a large bite from his sandwich, swiftly chasing it with a swig of moonshine. The Scout scoffed, giving the grumpy man a look of indignity and running his index finger and thumb across the brim of his hat, "Yea, whateva.."

"They're probably thinking about what we're thinking about," said the Soldier across from them thoughtfully as he stuck a spoonful of beans into his mouth. "Ok, wait, wait.." the Scout lifted a hand and shook it for clearance, "So we're thinkin' about them thinkin' about us thinkin' about them? ..Thinkin'?" "It's a damn good possibility, son!" said the Soldier suspiciously, slamming his fist down on the table as if encountering a revelation. "..wait."

"Yeh'r all a bunch of bloody idiots," growled the Demoman. He then took a swig of his sandwich and a bite of his alcohol, confusing both his teammates and you for a moment or so.

"Howdy, what's the news todai?" chirped a Sniper, plunking down next to the Soldier with a predictable plate of mashed potatoes and gravy. Granted there were other things on the plate too, but gravy seemed to be the main course.. The tension at the table seemed to bristle and then subdue with the Aussie's arrival. The Scout was the first to comment, "Oh yeah? And who told ya you[i] could sit wid' us?" "Heheh.. Who said I [i]couldn't, mate?" The Scout sneered and took an unhealthy sip of his Bonk energy drink. The Soldier, thankfully, was more mature about things, "We're attempting to discern the enemy's modus operandi at the present moment!"

"..You mean you're tryin' ta figure what those blokes are doin'?" "..Precisely," said the Soldier. He always had a habit of making everything sound official and epically important. Like the times he went to 'handle official business in the Red team latrine'. At least it sounded cleaner than the alternative -- rhymed too. "Well, if we're goin' ta be talkin' aboot this bloody business, what d'you think, Snipar?" The man shrugged, getting started on his meal while compiling an answer for the Demoman. "I'd say they're antsy. We stole their secrets from roight under their noses n' now we're all cooped up not givin' 'em any signals. Jolly good, I wager. Those blasted Blus could stand to be a bit scared.."

They all stared at him for a moment, likely because of the gravelly voice he was using. Except the Demoman of course -- he shared that same Blu-hating sentiment with which the Sniper spoke. But, at the drop of a hat, the Sniper became cheerful again and smiled brightly, "So, I see we've gotten new rations. How's that for service? HQ must be real proud." "Yea, we stopped dyin' so fast so they're rewardin' us by keepin' us alive a little longer," said the Scout dryly. "I thought that's what your monkey piss was for?" said the Sniper, gesturing to the Bonk can with his fork.

"Man, shut the hell up. No one even invited you over here." The Sniper simply watched the Scout, letting him rant a bit as Scouts were known to do. Heck, it gave him time to eat some of his food. "Besides, what good are you Snipers anyway? Hidin' in a tower pickin' off wounded people. Ooooooh so skilled." The Scout waved his hands sarcastically. "Just out of curiosity, mate, who invited you over?" Neither the Demoman nor the Soldier fessed up to it, leaving the Scout with a half-opened mouth that he promptly filled with Bonk. He grumbled into the nearly empty can.

There wasn't much conversation after that, though that wasn't odd for the Red team. Oftentimes they talked business or grudgingly dealt with one another. The Sniper found his thoughts wandering as the mess hall began to clear out. That Red Spy was different, wasn't he? He'd given him thanks for his work and, on a more personal note, for his good deeds. Maybe after all these months of fighting, he could finally have a partner within the base. Someone he could really fight alongside and plan with.

That's what this team lacked, he thought, direction and solid teamwork..

--
Act 4.
Team Fortress 2 and its characters belong to Valve. Rated T(F2chan) for language, violence, and suggestive themes.
--

The Red Spy glanced at the pills in his hand and sighed as he popped them into his mouth and chased them with some water. He then held the water bottle to his forehead, hoping to soothe the headache that was coming over him. Truth be told, he'd begun to feel under the weather over the last day or so. Nonstop he'd been helping with the decoding, the debriefing. Ugh.. Thank -god- it was finally finished. Now it was just a waiting game to see how quickly his team could make sense of the ill-gotten intel.

Peering out a bullet-proof glass window he watched one of the base courtyards. It was raining, he noticed. Terrible weather for fighting though he wouldn't put it past the Blus to try. The idiots.. An Engineer stepped past him hefting a large toolbox though he barely gave it any thought. Another sip of water. Ah.. Nice and cold. The corridor became busy then, a Demoman irritably discussing schematics with another Engineer pushing past the errant Spy. So he decided to move, headed toward the barracks and then his own quarters. He needed a nap. A good, long nap.

The Sniper, on the other hand, geared up in his room. He shrugged his vest over his shoulders and adjusted the sleeves of his shirt, grabbed his Kukri, a bow, his rifle (and a midnight snack of course), and kicked the door shut behind him as he slung the heavy weapon up onto his shoulder and began walking..

As he stepped down the sparsely-populated halls of the Red Base, the Aussie took stock of his body. Getting to be in good shape now, little to no soreness in his previously-wounded areas and a bit of energy staying with him to help him stay up through the night.

Perfect.

He greeted the Engie guarding one of the warehouse doors with a tip of his hat, "Graveyard shift, mate, you know the drill." "Right on, brother," came the man's relaxed reply. His Sentry gun blipped placidly beside him, barely even twitching as the burly man unlocked the door and threw it open for the Sniper to step outside.

Good lord was it raining. A relative monsoon fell upon him as he heard the warehouse door clamp shut. Not two steps out from it and rain began rolling along the brim of his hat and dripping in front of his eyes. Alert, he stepped forth and strafed the side of the Red base as he headed toward his appointed tower. He knew rain wouldn't stop Blu from doing something boneheaded like charging a fully-fortified, sealed base.

Ten feet, fifteen, twenty. The Sniper glanced up the side of his tower but decided to skirt it a bit first. As he crouched low in the bushes, he could feel his shoes sinking into the muddy grass. Huh.. Not a target for at least a half mile. Time to head up. He retraced his steps backwards, mostly to avoid getting stuck in the mud puddles rapidly forming on the ground. That'd be an embarrassing way to die, he thought, being stuck in a puddle.

So he started climbing, gloved hands grasping the cold metal and wood as he monkeyed his way up. A ladder? No, not so mundane. Anyone could climb a ladder. It took real skill to navigate the deathtrap of sharp metal and jagged wood the Snipers had built together. They were all in agreement that their towers were like miniature bases and as such should be as dangerous as fuck to all but those granted safe passage inside.

Up top was an escape rope to be used for bailing out. He'd used one himself against that Soldier's rocket though the blast had knocked him to the ground prematurely.. He decided not to think about it, swinging his lanky body around a protruding piece of metal and pulling his foot up onto it. Higher and higher.. He began to hum as he climbed, finishing a bar of 'God Save the Queen' just as he opened the back door of the tower and slipped inside.

The Sniper began to shuck his gear and dropped his lunch bag onto a nearby crate while shaking out his rifle and bow. He plunked down on a stool beside the narrow-mouthed window at the forefront of the shack and took a dry rag from inside his vest. He didn't care much about himself, but his gun? That had to be kept in top condition. Both it and the bow received the towel treatment, barrels and arrows being checked for functionality as he kept an eye to the blowing rain outside.

It was almost completely dark inside -- had to be during the night. A single candle could light up the entire cabin and destroy his chances of surprising the enemy. One of the Engies had proposed blue lighting along the floor, soft light which did just enough for the Snipers and not enough for anyone outside to peep in. It was by this that the Sniper maintained his weaponry and unloaded his snack -- a travel mug filled to the brim with fresh coffee. "C'mout c'mout whereva you are.." he whispered under his breath, dull eyes staring between the beads of rain as he took a measured sip.

"Right behind you.." drawled a voice. The Sniper tensed, fully prepared to spin around though the barrel of a pistol pressed itself firmly against the back of his skull and tipped his hat up slightly. A goddamn Spy!

"Ah.. now just relax and nobody will get hurt, hm?" "Interruptin' a man drinkin' 'is coffee, that's real polite." ".." The Sniper daringly glanced over his right shoulder but the gun only shifted to his temple. He could see the Spy now or, at least, his gloved hand. But he only scoffed and pulled his mug up for another drag, "Out with it then. I ain't gonna pop up and spill this. Be a waste of effort.." "Very well," the Spy said confidently, "Tell me everyzhing you know. What is Red doing wizh our intelijhence?" "Jolly good question, mate. See, I don't know if you know what a guy in a tower does, but he id'n't a Spy, see. I got no idea what they're up to nor do I car--"

Annoyed, the Spy thrust the gun forward, effectively pinning the Sniper's head against the planks of his sniping post. His coffee, thankfully, quivered but failed to drip. The Sniper slowly placed it down atop the crate.. "Well.. I guess this is the part where people get hurt, eh?" "Tell me what you know!" "Go diddle yeh'r mum."

There.

The moment he'd wanted. The Blu Spy's eyes widened with sudden anger and he knew that the moment they narrowed with focus that trigger would be pulled. It was then that he threw his head down with all his might and shoved his shoulder into the Spy's stomach.

BLAM! The pistol went off. The Sniper's hat rolled to the ground as both men hit the floor of the shanty. Quickly moving to pin the Blu bastard, the Sniper grabbed his wrists and twisted until the Spy cried out and dropped his weapon. A struggle ensued though the Sniper could tell the scrawny Spy could do nothing under his weight. After bucking a few times, the Blu lay seething beneath him, "Zhe moment you let go of me, I shall kill you! I'll gut you like a Cornish game hen!" "Roight, see, the problem with that is that I don't feel like letting you go. See, I was going to, but getting killed really turns me off to the whole idea."

A growl from the enraged Frenchman beneath him only amused the Sniper even more. He was a very patient man and Spies, he'd come to learn, were not as much. They liked being on top, they liked being right, and they liked getting things done quickly.

So it was no surprise that the Red Sniper decided to take things slowly! "So tell me, mate. How's things on the Blu side? You guys have really got to be desperate sending just one guy to try and weed us out." "I am not a-lone. Several of my colleagues wait below zhis tower for my signal so I suggest you unhand me at once!" "Roight, so you can kill me. I got that part. And ah.. What's this about colleagues? Heheh.. Ain't anybody 'round for a mile, mate. Didn't you see the sentry parked out front?" The Blu Spy sneered past the perimeter of his face mask. Indeed he had come alone, scaling the tower half an hour before the Sniper had come out to his post and simply waiting for him.

"How's it feel to be caught lyin' your first day on the job, hm?" The Spy looked startled. First day?! Sacre bleu! How in the world did the Sniper know?? "Field's a lot different than trainin' ain't it? You're a new recruit -- I can tell by the way you hesitate.." The Spy wordlessly glared death up at him. "Mate, let me give you a very useful, borderline traitor, bit uh' advice.. Never interrupt a Sniper when he 'asn't had 'is coffee yet. Never do that." "I shall see you in Hell!"

And that's when the Sniper collapsed his weight over the Spy, ramming both elbows into the man's chest and knocking the wind out of him with an audible woosh of air. Stunned, the Blu Spy could not fight back as the Sniper gingerly hopped to his feet and punted him out the back hatch of the watch tower, "Tell Blu Team oye said hello!" It swung shut behind the sailing Spy who, the Sniper observed with a hand to his ear, shrieked as he fell to the ground.

He lay in the mud as a string of agonized French, Italian, and Spanish curses left his lips. The Blu Spy whined and rolled over, flicking on his dying cloak and dagger device long enough to crawl back toward Blu Base with a broken leg and god knows how ruined a spine. Though the rain came heavy, he could hear the Sniper up in his tower, laughing. He fully expected to be sniped once his cloak wore off but the bullet never came.

Ugh..

Damned Snipers. He'd been told they liked to 'play with their food' as it were, but this was just humiliating.

He could almost feel the scope on his back, watching him..

--
Act 5.
Team Fortress 2 and its characters belong to Valve. Rated T(F2chan) for language, violence, and suggestive themes.
--

That Spy never did come back that night. His supposed colleagues? No show from them either as the Sniper mounted his rifle and panned the area with his relaxed gaze. After a few hours of keeping watch under thunder and occasional lightning, he leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. He shook out his arms and had a bit of coffee.

Back to the scope.

This process continued through the night, his position changing every so often as he reset his gun at the various designed portholes of the tower and eventually drained that tall mug dry.

The Red Spy pulled himself reluctantly out of a good dream. He was on a killing spree, deftly ending the lives of Blu after Blu and quite literally dancing astride the bullets they tried to throw at him. The thrill of battle, the joy of being an expert on his feet. He felt invincible! ..and particularly cozy as his eyes slid open to view the world through a bleary gaze.

He hummed softly and stretched his long body from the head of his bed to the foot of it, allowing his limbs to relax as he pondered the relative merits of moving. Well, he could go and get breakfast, a shower was definitely in order too.. He should also probably brush his teeth and wash that sick taste out of his mouth. What the hell was that anyway? Rolling onto his side and tucking his hands beneath his pillow, he suddenly pinched his eyes shut and moaned.

A headache, one which had been present all along, flared to the front of his senses as he turned. He was briefly disoriented until he laid still for a while. "Mmmgh," he grumbled, sounding angry about it. Wasn't sleep supposed to soothe a headache?? It felt ten times worse than he remembered!

"Oh pleeeease," he whined, pulling his knees up into a curl as he tried to will the incessant pain away. When that didn't work, he grunted and decided he'd simply work with it, pushing himself up with a hand to his temple and taking a step out of bed.

Woah -- whoops!

He stumbled a good bit, crashing into his wall and steadying himself against it. His balance seemed to be all types of off and his limbs felt sore and heavy with every step he tried to take. What in the world?! Stress couldn't do this, could it? No, it couldn't, he decided. It must have just been a waking grogginess and it would wear off once he got into the shower. .. hopefully.

Gathering himself in front of his mirror, the Spy huffed and removed his balaclava in order to comb his hair and place it back on properly. His next task was to straighten his tie, put on his gloves and jacket, and step out into the open base on his way to the 'latrine' as the Soldier class so affectionately called it. In truth it was a rather clean set of showers and bathrooms. Private stalls, quality towels (complete with the Red logo, of course), and an amazing lack of graffiti.

This, in part, was due to the fact that the entire team helped to maintenance them, taking shifts to be sure no one got shorted on the tedious work.

Due to the necessity of the facilities, the washrooms were located quite near to the barracks. It should have been no problem for the Spy to get to them, but he found it more and more difficult to walk straight down the hallway. His grace was slipping, and he half limped/half veered into the wall before stopping entirely and laying his hand against it for support.

This simply would not do! He shook his head to clear it, instantly wincing and deciding that was a terrible idea. His hand flew to his temple again and a few sharp curses escaped him. It was early morning, few were awake and most of them were top-side on duty or getting to work on the weapon upgrades. As a result, the hallways felt hollow to him. On the plus side, he thought, no one would be seeing him in his moment of weakness.

..or so he thought.

The dust-laden heels of the Sniper's shoes tapped dully against the spotless floor of the barracks hall, his arm swaying at his side while the other remained curled around his rifle. It wasn't the same walk the Red Spy had observed those weeks ago, no. Today he more resembled the Sniper he'd been in the infirmary. Head hung low with drowsiness, the Aussie plodded in the direction of his room. The promise of a soft, dry bed called to him, and boy was he ready to answer!

The Spy picked himself up, almost holding his breath in an attempt to keep himself looking sharp as he adjusted his tie and pretended to be looking at his watch. The Sniper noticed him, a smile creasing the weathered lines of his face as he stopped nearby, "Top of the morning, mate. Or good night, I guess."

A chill was creeping up on the Spy, but the Sniper began to take note that the man was actually sweating involuntarily. The rain had cooled everything down, something had to have been amiss..

"Everything all right then?"

The Spy smirked, or tried to. He was fully prepared to pull an act on the Sniper -- he was the master of disguise after all! "Right on zhe point, Monsieur Sni.. Ouh.." A twinge of nausea overtook him and when he recovered, he found the Aussie facing him more directly with a look of concern, "Look mate, you don't look so well." "Jhust a headache, I am sure it will pass.." the Spy then swooned, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him.

The Sniper grimaced with the corner of his mouth, frowning and stepping up to clap a palm over the Spy's masked forehead. The Spy seemed a bit startled by that, but effectively went cross-eyed and tilted under dizziness. "Aw good gravy, you're burnin' up, mate!" "Oh.." the Spy murmured docilely. He felt as though he'd fall down at any moment, his feeble attempts at remaining self-sufficient swiftly falling under the effects of this mystery ailment.

Words could not describe the relief he felt when the Sniper hooked his free arm under one of his own and kept it around his back so that he could support him. "Let's get you back to your room, mate. I'll see about gettin' the Medic t' you," the Sniper said worriedly. He walked deliberately with the Spy at his side, keeping things at a pace his ill teammate could keep up with. For once? The Spy did not mind doing things slowly. It kept his head from swirling..

"Where's your key, mate?" "Jhust a moment.." said the Spy as they came to a pause in front of the door. He reached for and missed his suit jacket twice before achieving a look of determination and managing to slip his hand inside to grab his card key from a secret pocket there. It was all he could do to lift and swipe it in the card reader before he found himself relying heavily on the Sniper's arm for support.

Opening a door in this manner was especially challenging though he wasn't about to make the Sniper do it without a free hand.. By the grace of gravy, it swung open with ease and the Sniper shuffled him inside. He quickly set down his rifle and used both hands to grab a hold of the swooning Spy and maneuver him toward his bed. "You must never speak of what you see in zhis room," the Spy warned half-heartedly. The Sniper gathered that he meant the various charts, posters, and papers laid out around the room and couldn't help but smile at the professional quality of the man's request. But he was a professional too; he had standards.

The Spy sat heavily, trying hard to look composed in front of his teammate as he pulled his gloves more tightly over his fingertips and cleared his throat.

"Now don't go runnin' off on me, eh? Oy'm gonna leave the door open and go get you a Medic." Instantly the Spy wrinkled his nose and frowned up at him, "Open? That is unacceptable, someone could zee inside and--" "Roight, so don't die, I'll be right back," concluded the Sniper who, perhaps as an act of faith, left his rifle behind to go and fetch help. Sputtering after him, the Spy simply resigned to his fate and lifted a hand to his face to try and feel the fever the Sniper had indicated. Huh.. So he was ill, was he? How could that have happened?

Illness, he thought, what a pain in the ass. It was one of the few things the Medic couldn't just zap away with his gun. The technology simply worked to repair and replicate existing tissues, not to remove or destroy harmful bacteria. It's why the team utilized antibiotic pills and antique medical practices like sutures. Nothing came without a price..

Nobody was quite sure what to make of a Sniper running through the Red base like a lunatic. It wasn't the lunatic part that got to them -- Snipers were always considered a bit off -- but the running? It was enough to raise some alarm. His speed prevented them from stopping him and asking the cause, but a Heavy unwittingly put a stop to that as the Red Sniper coasted around a corner and ran straight into the man's back.

BOOMF!

Repelled from the Heavy, the Sniper stumbled backward rather comically and fell on his ass dazed. Oh lordy.. Heavies? Brick walls? He honestly could not tell the difference at the moment. The hulking Russian, having felt a tickle behind him, turned around and stared dumbly at the fallen Aussie before a wide smile broke across his face. His laughter boomed down the hall as he reached down and grabbed the skinny man by the vest and pulled him easily to his feet. He even went so far as to dust the Sniper off like a dropped object. "Why is little Sniper running through base?" he asked, grinning and looking curiously at him.

'Little Sniper' got his act together, straightening out his glasses with a mild frown as he tried to edge around the Heavy. It was quite a feat, the hallway seemed a tight fit for the burly man. "Sorry about that, mate," he apologized, "Oy'm in need of a Medic. Think it could be serious." "Sniper want for me to get Medic? Ok!" The big man turned to look up the hall and put a hand to his mouth. "Well no, you don't really have to, Oi can just--" "MEEEDIIIIIIIIIC!" the Heavy bellowed, his strong voice roaring through the base and briefly driving the poor Sniper deaf.

He held his ears with a look of shock, snapping his fingers beside one a few times just to be sure it wasn't going to be permanent. It wasn't, but that didn't do much to soothe the ringing now present in both.

"I am coming!!" came the reply call from far up the hallway. The Sniper continued checking his ears, making sure blood wasnt dripping from them as the sound of booted footsteps approached at a running pace. It was the Medic, a look of grim business on his face as he screeched (rather audibly) to a halt and glanced between the two men, "Ja? Vhat is zhe problem?? Heavy, are you injured?" The Heavy looked very pleased and slung a beefy arm around the Sniper, crushing him against his side, "Sniper need help from Medic. Is urgent." His expression suddenly grew serious.

The Medic's icy eyes turned toward the crushed Australian, a look of distaste coming with them. After a few moments of waiting and watching the Sniper struggle he demanded, "Vhell? Vhat is it?? Don't you dare make me come running und zhen just stand zhere!" When the Heavy realized he was choking the poor bastard, he let him go. The Sniper let loose a couple of rough coughs and held up an index finger while recovering, "S'not me, mate. ..guh. -haff- One've our Spies is ill. I dunno what 'e's got but you'd better come have a look."

"Zhe Spy?" asked the Medic, his shoulders relaxing as a perplexed look crossed his chiseled face, "Heh.. Ja, I vhill come and see. Lead zhe way, Fraulein.." The Sniper coughed into his palm at that moment, missing the insult, "Huh?" "I said let's go, I vhill not stand here all day!" The Sniper's eyebrows shot up a bit, a step taken backward at the Medic's sudden and almost manic change in behavior, "Oh.. OK, come along then."

"Good luck to little Sniper and Medic!" the Heavy called after them, waving one of his giant arms and stomping off in the opposite direction in a carefree fashion.

huh, I could have sworn I commented. ah well. either way, good stuff!

--
Act 6.
Team Fortress 2 and its characters belong to Valve. Rated T(F2chan) for language, violence, and suggestive themes.
--

I'm dying, he thought. I am laying here and I am going to be dead soon.

One by one, his limbs ceased to respond to him, failing to move despite his best efforts to get up. His eyes narrowed with grim resolution. He could see that light.. His life flashed before his eyes: France, Italy, the beautiful coast of Southern Afric-- .. Oh wait, that was the world map hung above his bed.

The Red Spy stared at it until the recognition clicked and he frowned in an almost disappointed fashion. He wasn't dying? ..damn. So much for dramatics. The rest of it stood true, however. Against his will he'd fallen onto his side though rolling onto his back was his own idea. Hurt less, let him see more. A good strategic move! He couldn't see the door from here, but he knew it was open. Ugh.. Open meant vulnerable and oh did he hate being vulnerable.

Luckily, when he heard voices, they were familiar. "Roight this way, I've got him on the bed." "Ja, ja, just stick around so you don't spread zhe germs.." The door slid open even wider on its well-oiled hinges, granting the Medic and his bulky equipment entrance into the Spy's room. The Sniper was soon to follow, peering toward the Spy as he finally shut the door and leaned back against it. "Don't touch anything, the Spy croaked at the Medic who had glanced around briefly.

After assuring there were no booby traps in the room, the Medic grunted and stepped up to the man's bedside to assess the damage, "Vhell, Spy, vhat seems to be zhe trouble?" The Spy took a quick inventory of himself, trying to keep things concise, "Headache, soreness--" "Sore vhere?" "Everywhere? Nausea.. uh.. headache." He'd said that already, but in his state he didn't much care. "Und fever," the Medic added, observing the Spy's moist forehead. "Oui.." The Medic clucked his tongue, adjusting his glasses with a gloved hand and stating rather matter-of-factly, "You heff zhe flu."

"The flu?" the Sniper asked from the door. "Zhe flu," repeated the Medic who looked pointedly at the Aussie. "How? We were all just vaccinated." "I'm afraid not," murmured the Spy who received an eye roll from the Medic, "Ja, I vhas wondering why you never showed. Dummkopf.." "So I forgot, sue me why don't you!" "Open vhide und say 'ah' for me." "Wha--mmph!" the Spy choked a bit on the thermometer which was rudely shoved under his tongue, eyes widened at first but then narrowed with annoyance. The fever got the best of him, however, and he soon returned to the thready dream-state that had occupied him before the two men arrived.

When the little device beeped, the Medic removed it and hummed with a nod of his head, "He is in danger of dying if he is not cared for." The words came with a surprisingly neutral tone as the German peered from the numbers to the Sniper. "Well.. You're the Medic aren't you?" "Ja, but you're available." "What? Hey!" "I have plenty of vherk to do, Herr Sniper. Of course.. If he dies, I doubt anyvhone is going to cry about it." He shrugged. The Sniper frowned in annoyance, bowing his head slightly and asking decisively, "What does he need then?"

The Medic beamed with the idea of forcing medical knowledge upon someone who probably didn't want it, his first happy smile of the day appearing as he wrangled the Sniper into a half hour explanation of how to treat a severe case of the flu. The Sniper, already tired from his night shift, was forced to take notes. Literally. He found paper in the Spy's desk (the back of which was printed with confidential information) and wrote things down. The main idea seemed to be 'keep the fever down' or else, as the Medic had so fondly put it, the Spy's head might melt.

It was no surprise that relief washed over both men once the Medic clopped away with his kit. He did leave a few things behind, however. An unfrozen ice pack, the thermometer, and a children's book. Hell knows how the man got it, but he'd left it, telling the Sniper he could read to the Spy if he thought it'd increase his chances of staying alive. The Sniper didn't find it particularly funny. This was a man's life they were discussing! A fellow team mate! Didn't anyone's life have a value anymore?

The Sniper seized the Spy's key card, moving to and from the room a few times in search of supplies. He tossed the Medic's ice pack in the trash can on the way to the mess hall, making one himself with fresh ice from the community freezer, a zipper-shut bag, and a towel from the lavatory. He also pilfered breakfast for himself and the Spy, his being, surprisingly, a can of Bonk. An energy drink? It was the only smart choice to make. For the Spy he decided on tea and scrambled eggs. Something easy on the stomach and well within the Sniper's limited cooking ability.

As the door clicked shut for the last time, he set everything aside and approached the Spy with his handmade ice pack, dragging the chair from the man's desk to bedside and sitting in it as he eased the chilled towel against the Spy's forehead. He cracked open his can of Bonk, sniffing it suspiciously and grimacing as he took a gulp. Mmgh. Not coffee, that's for sure. He wasn't sure how the Scouts around base handled the stuff, but they all seemed to be addicted to it. Maybe it was their secret for being so speedy.

Speaking of which, he was shocked by how fast it perked him up. Perhaps such a large gulp wasn't a good idea for a first-timer? To be safe, he set the can aside and wiped his mouth as he looked toward his 'patient'. He blinked hard and rolled his eyes to adjust to the sudden influx of alertness and cleared his throat. The Spy didn't even respond, his eyes closed for the time being. Huh.. The man's chest rose and fell in a rhythmic though painstakingly slow fashion; at least he wasn't dead yet.

The Sniper moved the bag around a bit, pondering removing the Spy's mask in order for the ice to be more effective. Hm.. Best not to do that without permission. The Spy still had a knife on him somewhere and who knew if he was actually unconscious? Well.. A flu, huh? The Sniper gave it some thought. Was this really going to be his full-time job? He couldn't very well drag the Spy into his tower just to watch over him. He'd simply have to forgo that duty for a while.. A day? A week? He wasn't sure, but he'd already made up his mind that if the Medic wouldn't tend to him, he'd do it himself.

"Monsieur Medic?"

The Sniper blinked, his thoughts of comradery and time away from his post being broken up by the voice of the Spy. His eyes were open a bit now, he noticed, though they were staring straight up. "Not as such, mate," he said, sniffing idly and pulling his chair a little closer. "Mon dieu.. what is going on.." he moaned quietly. His headache was constant now and, as it happened, spread heavily throughout his entire body. Despite the sweat rolling off his brow, the Spy twitched now and then, shivering.

The Sniper took note of this, balancing the ice bag over the Spy's head and patting his arm as he got up, "Hold still for a moment there." The Spy tried to glance around, able to see the Sniper's back and recognize him as he moved to the foot of his bed and retrieved a secondary blanket meant for cold nights. The Spy fumbled with one hand, trying to reach up and remove the ice bag though the Aussie was already turning around and looking at him, "Oh no you don't, mate. Doctor's orders." Grabbing the Spy's hand, he forced it back against the mattress and spread the blanket over him. "You've got the flu, remember? No runnin' around, no schemin'.." The Spy opened his mouth to retort. "And no bitchin'. God knows you'll want that energy to recover with."

Effectively hushed, the Spy blinked and narrowed his eyes in an annoyed manner. Was the Sniper trying to boss him around?! In any case, the Australian sat back down and took hold of the ice bag again as he repositioned it, "Lemme hold this here a li'le while. Medic says I ought to cool you down or you'll melt like a crayon in the sun n' I, for one, don't wanna be responsible for that mess."

The Spy sighed through his nose, feeling his headache dissipate slightly as it responded to the cold of the ice. The blanket felt nice too, he noted.. But the more pressing question was where was the Medic? The answer dawned on him just as quickly as the question had come to mind: The Medic left to help someone of more importance. Someone with more of a chance to live. It was strictly professional, he knew, but.. it stung.

"I brought you some breakfast, mate. You just lemme know when you feel up to it, savvy?" The Spy blinked in surprise. He brought him food? Breakfast in bed? ..huh. He'd always known Snipers took their work seriously. They came prepared and even prepared for preparation. So.. If he'd been tasked with looking after the Spy, no doubt he'd gotten himself well prepared for that as well. "Perhaps in a short while. ..Monsieur Sniper?" "Yeh?" he picked up the Bonk again, reading the list of contents with a somewhat frightened look on his face.

"You are not obligated to do zhis, you know. I am fully prepared to face death should zhat be what comes for me. Eet was my own fault not going to zhe Medic and I am entirely responsible for--" "Oh hold on, hold on. No. No'w, mate. That's bonkers. Bloody 'ell that's downright stupid." The Sniper lifted the ice bag and dropped it in a punishing fashion to which the Spy cringed. "Christ-in-a-basket, mate, if I thought you were gonna die I'dda put you outta your misery before I sat here playing mommy to you."

The Spy opened his mouth, shut it, and weakly arched an eyebrow, "Why are you talking so fast?" "Now what in the world does that have to do with anything?" He eyed the can of Bonk, took a careful sip from it, and then put it far from him. Likely, it was the culprit for his energized speech. "Look.." The Spy looked and saw the Aussie's stern features soften somewhat, "It's either this or go sit in a stinkin' tower for twelve hours takin' potshots at the breezes." He blinked behind his shades, shrugging and sitting up a bit, "A'sides, we shook hands on it; we're friends. Now you lay there and you get better like nobody's business."

The Spy glanced over to the wall and then back, shrugging his shoulders in a confused fashion. OK then? "I zhink I can handle breakfast," he said cautiously, unsure of the Sniper's current temperament. "Aw'right then, mate." He re-balanced the ice and then pushed his chair back to stand. With his back to the Spy, he approached the desk and picked up the tray he'd snitched from the mess hall. The tea had gone lukewarm, he could tell from the lack of steam, but he'd love to see the Spy try and complain about it. "I wasn't quite sure what a Spy's mum would make for 'im, so I decided to go the default route. 'ere's your complimentary international breakfast."

The Red Spy found it in him to maneuver a bit and hold the icepack to his head as he sat up against the pillows. The ice seemed to help quite a bit, working with the soft blanket to soothe him even as the Sniper came back and laid the tray awkwardly in his lap. Room service? Never happened to him before, not on the job at least.

"He says you might die, you know," the Sniper mentioned off-handedly. "Yes, I happened to be listening.." "So that means you're going to be seeing more of me until it's gone." The Red Spy paused with a forkful of egg near his mouth but then went ahead and ate it with a weak-shouldered shrug, "Is zhat supposed to be good or bad news? I cannot tell." "Depends.." said the Sniper, removing his hat to scratch his scalp, "How's my cooking?" "You'll be here if I start choking, yes?"

The Aussie couldn't help but be amused, scooping up the Bonk and moving to sit in his chair. He put his hat back on, "Yeh, I suppose I will."

"Christ-in-a-basket"
I lol'd.

--
Act 7.
Team Fortress 2 and its characters belong to Valve. Rated T(F2chan) for language, violence, and suggestive themes.
--

Things only seemed to get worse for the Spy's condition as the day went on. Soon he could barely move at all which immediately brought several curious questions to mind. How would he shower, how would he use the restrooms, and, most importantly, when could he get back to slinking around the base? He loved slinking. It felt amazing sneaking past people and being stationary only caused him to long for the simple freedom of walking around on his own steam. He felt twice his weight and pinned down; it was a horribly restless feeling though the Sniper seemed to be trying to keep his mind off of it as they shuffled up the hallway together.

"Well, I suppose you could use the handicapped shower." "..We have one?" "Sure we do. What do you think the Demomen hold onto when they wake up with a hangover?" "Very well. I am sure I can handle it on my own." "There's a trooper!" the Sniper said supportively, adjusting his hold on the Spy as he more or less dragged him into the room. An Engineer was washing his hands in there and he glanced over curiously as the pair entered. "Woah now, you boys are headed the wrong way. Infirmary's on the other side of the base." "I am well aware of zhat," the Spy said irritably. The Sniper quickly spoke up to cool off the situation, "He'll be fine. Just needs a bit of help gettin' around is all. Thanks for the concern, mate." "Right on," the Engineer said with a nod. He took his glove from the side of the sink and put it back on as he headed around them and exited the room.

"Can we hurry zhis up? I don't want to have to explain myself to everyone who comes in here." The Sniper was already moving again, "Sure, sure. Roight this way then."

It was getting to the stall which was the hard part; once there, the Spy was able to support himself against various walls and maneuver enough to take care of himself. The Sniper took the hint and went to go grab a magazine. "I'll be around, mate, just give a holler when you need me," he said as he tossed his empty drink can into the trash. He heard angered French muttering from the stall and smiled as he strode out.

That poor angry bloke, thought the Sniper as he leafed through a hunting magazine out in the hall. He supposed he had reason -- after all, several things as of late could have gotten under the Red Spy's suit. Lack of stealth, lack of self-defense, and being slowed down. As he crossed off the mental checklist, he hummed and admitted that perhaps he was getting off lucky where the Spy's rage was concerned. Along with that hum came a yawn and he was late to put a hand up over it. Ugh.. How long had he been up now, 48 hours? Powernaps had been sustaining him, but even those combined with the Bonk weren't going to save him from the inevitable sleep he needed.

Still, he was a Sniper. He dealt easily with drowsiness and knew he could force himself to be alert if needed. After all, his job commanded stamina and utter control of his body. Staying up for days at a time was nothing new to him. Babysitting a Spy, however, was something he'd never encountered. It was around half an hour later that he decided to check on his ward, tucking the magazine under one arm and pushing the washroom door open to step inside. He couldn't immediately see him, but that was fine and good. It wouldn't do to have the showers directly facing the door, would it? "Still alive in here?" he asked, glancing about. "Somewhat," came the belated reply. The Sniper followed it, coming around the bathroom stalls to find the Spy re-clothed and leaning fully on a wall. He was slumped, it wasn't a suave lean from what he could tell.

"Come, let's get out of zhis place." "What, you mean you don't want to admire the architecture?" The Spy shot him a pointed, unamused look. He was already grudging in accepting the Sniper's help. He had a lot of pride and wasn't very willing to toss it up on account of a silly handshake in the infirmary. Frankly the Sniper could care less about the Spy's pride issues. He walked right over and grabbed the man by the arm to start dragging him away. The Spy came with him but promptly stumbled and emitted a grunt of annoyance at the incapability of his own legs, "Merde!" The Sniper sighed gruffly, "You want to get this done quickly, mate?" "But of course, you idiot. Do I look like I am having a good time?"

"AGH! Mon dieu, what do you zhink you are you doing!" he flailed as best he could when the Sniper finally got fed up and scooped the wobbly Spy up into his arms bridal style. "Watch your head, mate," he warned as he pushed the door open with his back and stepped out into the hallway. The Spy was too distracted with rage to take notice of the door frame and so received a gentle bop on the head from it as he was carried through. Dizzied and upset, he sputtered uselessly in French! The Sniper didn't really mind. He simply carried the frothing Frenchman back toward the barracks despite anyone they encountered along the way.

A Demoman paused as they passed him by, blinking and lifting the bottle of whiskey in his hand to peer suspiciously at it..

The Spy quickly realized his hissy fit would only embarrass him in public and so decided to to grouse silently in the Sniper's hold. He refused to meet eyes with the man, not that could past those dark glasses. Instead he just folded his arms and tried to think of something other than his pounding head. He watched the door to his room approach, fully expecting to be put down but.. what? The Sniper simply leaned back, leveraging the Spy's body against his chest and freeing his hand up long enough to pluck the key card from his vest pocket and swipe it through the reader. Backing up, he hitched the door handle with the heel of his shoe and pulled it open. The Spy merely stared at the open door, watching his head this time as they went inside. "You just opened zhat door with your foot." "I've got eyes, mate. I know what I did." "Well yes, but-" "Down you go."

Whump.

He was back in his bed again, nice and clean.. and with more pillows, he noticed. Seems the Sniper had done more preparing while he was washing up. So he relaxed, he had to. His body had begun feeling heavy again and this time he did not resist. The Sniper clinked around on his desk, causing him to look over and notice with a horrified expression that some of his papers had been scribbled all over! "..aw. Why.. Why!" "Why what?" the Aussie asked, picking up the thermometer and the fresh ice bag he'd prepared as he moved back to the bed. "My papers? Was zhat necessary? I-- You'd better not have read anyzhing!" He pointed accusingly at the Sniper who simply grabbed his hand and moved it aside, "Mouth open, mate." "Non!"

"Mouth open or those notes go in the shredder." It was amazing how quickly that thermometer made its way under the Spy's tongue. The Sniper yawned subtly as he sat down in his chair and pulled the beeping thermometer from the Red Spy's lips. It was nearing afternoon. He knew he couldn't take much more of this babysitting business today, but he had to at least assure the Frenchman wouldn't drop dead on him. The Spy rolled his tongue around his mouth, blinking dully as the ice bag was settled over his head. "Hundred an' two, mate." "Mmf.." "How's about you try and get some rest?" "You seem to be in need of some yourself, if I may make a sugjhestion." "Oy' if that ain't the truth.." The Sniper pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced around. "Well.. I'll be fine here. You can just punch me if you think you're dying, all right?"

"What if I just want to punch you?" "Guess you can try explainin' that to me when I wake up and strangle you," said the Sniper, peering down to observe the smile on the Spy's face.

So that was the plan. The Spy nestled into the pillows and focused on the chill spreading over his eyes, having no trouble relaxing and letting sleep tug him away. The ice bag stayed where it was too, the broad towel made sure of that and allowed the Sniper a pair of free hands which he used to adjust the Spy's blanket. The desk chair was comfortable enough; plush leather lining, swing-out arm rests, an air-controlled height adjuster.. It didn't have a foot rest, but he was fine with that. The Sniper tipped his hat down and folded his arms loosely across his chest as a final yawn escaped him and he let himself succumb to the sleep he'd been chasing for days..

A trickle of moisture rolling down the side of his nose woke the Red Spy. He had no idea what time it was, but as he wiped his face with a hand, he determined that the ice bag on his head had not only melted, but sprung a leak as well. Bah.. only water, he left it up there.

To his right he observed the lethal Sniper, not so dangerous when asleep though he knew better than to try anything that might startle the man. Huh.. He was still asleep and, from what he could tell, completely relaxed. His folded arms had migrated down to his lap in a subtle cross, long legs sprawled out against the floor in front of him as he breathed evenly. Sleeping upright couldn't have been comfortable, but it wasn't as though the Sniper was awake to gripe.

A trooper, that's what the Sniper had called him earlier. He couldn't say he really agreed. Most of the time he'd just been bull-headed and made things harder for the gunman to take care of him. If anybody was doing their duty here, he admitted to himself, it was the Red Sniper. ..but that still wouldn't stop him from protecting his dignity! That was important and if he wasn't going to die from this then he'd be making sure to stay on his game until it was over. That in mind, he decided to find out what time it was. Hm. Moving? Could he move? The Spy frowned; he shuffled around, flopped, grunted. Failed, ultimately, is what he did. He was even forced to squint an eye shut as he shook a fresh stream of water loose from the bag above. "Ugh!" he scoffed, laying there indignantly as water dribbled steadily down his frowning face.

The Sniper shifted a bit, flexing a leg and readjusting his arms. The Spy bit his lower lip, fearing that he'd woken the man unnecessarily when something else assaulted his eyes. Groaning, he shut them both and squinted angrily at the source! ..oh. It was the Sniper's watch which, as the man eased back into rest, ceased its blinding reflection and sat at a readable angle. ..3 o'clock. But it had been 2:30 when he'd last been awake! Surely he'd slept longer than thirty minutes? ..ah, there, a tiny little moon icon at the lower half of the watch face. So it was three in the morning then -- 3:15 if he felt like being precise.

Over twelve hours of rest made perfect sense for someone in the Spy's condition, but he also noticed that the Sniper was out like a light. Was that usual for a Sniper? Well, he certainly wasn't dead -- his shifting around had assured that. He pondered waking him for a few minutes until the steady drip of the ice bag began to drive him mad. Oh yes, he'd need the Sniper awake right now.

Poke. Poke poke. He jabbed at the Aussie's arm from where he lay, unable to punch him though that would have been the more amusing route to take. Poke poke-a poke poke.. poke poke. Grunting, the Sniper stirred a bit and shifted his jaw around. He brushed at the Spy's hand as if shooing him, but he merely poked a different part of his arm, even speaking up, "Monsieur Sniper. Wakey wakey.." No effect. "..SPY IN ZHE BASE!""[b]WHERE?[b]" The Sniper suddenly yelled with a start, flinging himself upright in the chair and reaching for the Kukri strapped to his back.

The Spy pulled back his hand and lifted a satisfied eyebrow, "Right here."

Blinking a number of times, the Aussie gradually regained his bearings and relaxed in the chair. He began to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Aw, mate... Don't do that t' me," he grumbled. "It is hardly my fault zhat you are such a sound sleeper." "Normally I'm not," he insisted, removing his glasses to rub his eyes and push a hand along his stubbled chin, "You need something?" He glanced at his watch with an embarassed frown.

The Spy simply smiled a tight smile and let the Aussie notice the Chinese water torture all on his own. Immediately he looked apologetic and grabbed the bag away as he fumbled his glasses back on, "Oh sorry about that, mate!" Holding a hand under the leak, he quickly stood to go dump the whole mess in the metal bucket he'd used to bring it in the first place. "Not sure 'ow that happened." "I assume it had somezhing to do with zhe bag, and zhis amazing thing called 'melting'.." "Smartass," said the Sniper as he wiped his hands dry with the towel and then returned to the Spy's side to quite literally rub the smugness off of his face with it.

"Mghghlf!" came his muffled, angry reply -- it was probably in French.

The Sniper picked up the towel with a pleasant smile on his face, "There, all nice n' dry." The Spy could look less amused if he tried, but he wasn't in a trying mood. "Well, Oy'm gonna go find myself some real food and wash up, can I get you anything, princess?" At first the Spy was prepared to fling a particularly rude insult in the Sniper's direction, but then he fell into some real thought. Did he need anything? ..oh wow. That was a good point. He'd be stuck here for a while and he couldn't very well sleep the entire time. Why didn't he think of that earlier?

The Sniper was waving a hand in front of his face as if to revive him, "Anybody home?" he asked. "Somezhing to read," he blurted out, looking from the man's hand to his face. "And.. information." "Of what variety?" The Sniper stood straight and adjusted the strap of his quiver. "Ask zhe team how zhings are coming along with zhe intelligence. ..non." He lifted a hand, shaking an index finger, "Ask zhe Spies. They will know best.." "Want me to pass around a get well card for you?" "Yes, that would be very n-- .." He realized what the Sniper had actually said, fixing him with an exasperated look. After scooping the bucket under one arm, the smiling Aussie leaned down to give the Spy's head a fond pat, "Back in a blink, mate."

The Spy soured predictably at the pat, not that the Sniper cared as he pulled the door open and stepped outside.

THIS. This is fucking awesome. They're in character, there are little to no spelling errors as far as I can see, and it's so sweet! Methinks I smell some Sniper/Spy in the making, and I hope that's the case! MOAR I say!

--
Act 8.
Team Fortress 2 and its characters belong to Valve. Rated T(F2chan) for language, violence, and suggestive themes.
--

'Ask zhe Spies', eh? The Sniper chuckled to himself as he stepped from the shower and toweled himself off. It made sense, he had to admit. The Spies would likely be the only ones left awake save for the paranoid Soldiers and other Snipers like himself. Ah.. it felt so good to be clean again. He slipped into a change of clothes which were ironically identical to his other pair though a uniform was a uniform..

He brushed his teeth, shaved, combed his hair, and made a quick pitstop back at his own room to drop off his dirty laundry before going on a search mission. -If I were a Spy, where would I hide?- thought the Sniper as he passed the mess hall and peered inside. There were two Scouts in there playing cards. Hm, nope. Time to move on. He checked the infirmary (a brief visit once he saw no one but a drunk Demoman passed out on the floor), the main hallways, and finally, as a last thought, the briefing room where vital intelligence was kept. Why the run around? His legs. They, along with his back, felt a bit stiff from sleeping in that chair. Any exercise he could get to fix that would be welcomed with open arms.

"Hold it right there," came a voice from behind him. The Sniper was subtly startled, but he paused and asked, "Okay, what am I holding, mate?" The telltale smoke of a cloaked Spy passed his right side, a fellow teammate slipping into view with his knife drawn. It wasn't the Spy he'd been nursing, he could tell by the man's height and the difference in eye color. "Do I need a hall pass?" The Spy looked unaffected by the Aussie's humor, quickly glancing up and down at him as if to determine something. He then relaxed and fancily closed his butterfly knife, "I had to be sure zhat you were not an enemy Spy. Forgive me." "No worries, mate."

The Spy scoffed and pocketed the knife, "What are you doing here so late at night?" The Sniper smiled, "Looking for you, actually. Or.. any of you red-suited blokes, really." "For what purpose?" "Oy' don't suppose you've noticed one of your own went missing?" ".." "He's down with the flu, sent me in his stead." "Sent you?" "Me." "A Sniper?" "A Sniper." The Red Spy across from him furrowed his brow and looked suspicious! The Aussie didn't think much of it. All of the Spies were paranoid and untrusting to the point where it became ridiculous at times. But seeing as they stood so near to the Red team's intelligence, he decided it made a bit of sense tonight.

To please the Spy, the Sniper glanced down at his vest and reached in for the other Spy's room card. He presented it like an ID, watching as the man accepted it and looked it over. He even held it to the light for verification before handing it back with a grudging grunt of approval, "Well.. I suppose zhings are in order. Walk with me." Tucking the key away, the Sniper was happy to follow. Well this was simple enough, he'd almost expected to be frisked before the Spy would even consider turning his back on him.

Being that that wasn't the case, he was feeling rather chipper as the Spy opened the briefing room door (with a card key of his own) and held it open for the Sniper to follow. The Aussie could see a few of the masked men standing and sitting around the room -- all of them were smoking. Well, all except the one who welcomed him inside, but he soon got right to it as he shut the door and locked it. The Sniper wrinkled his nose a bit but pushed the irritation aside with a gentle clearing of his throat. The others had already noticed him and quit talking, their expressions voicing their confusion and distaste as if to say 'what the hell is he doing here?'

The Sniper politely removed his hat and went to sit unpolitely on the edge of a steel-reinforced table covered in confidential photographs which he didn't even look at. All of the Spies bristled sharply, each of them ready to pounce and start yelling about how top secret everything was and that the Aussie had better forget everything he learned in the room and yadda.. yadda.. yadda. What they didn't expect, however, was for the Sniper to start talking before they got the chance. "G'day, mates." They collectively shut their mouths and waited, their frowning faces demanding explanation.

"One of your colleagues sent me to get this whole intelligence mess straight. You might remember him; he's the bloke that retrieved that briefcase," pointing across the room, he was able to draw all of their attention to the opened case that was currently laid on a table between two of the Spies. When they looked back to him, he continued, "To be quite honest, I don't much care what you blokes are up to. Only reason Oy'm here is because he asked nicely. Now. One of you, give me a report."

They stared judgingly at him.

"Oh for the love of.. I'm on your team, what am I gonna do with intelligence? Steal it twice?" There were a few slumped shoulders and exchanged glances before one of the Spies pulled out his cigarette and released a smoke trail as he approached the table upon which the Sniper had planted his ass. He paused near the Aussie who only folded his arms and waited as the Spy made a few final judgments and decided it was safe to begin, "All right.. Look here, Sniper, perhaps you'll learn somezhing." His arrogance was almost physically painful to listen to, but the Aussie handled it just fine. Standing, he turned and joined the Spy's side to watch and listen.

The man pointed with his cigarette to a few photographs and began to explain the Blu situation. Gradually, other Spies approached, giving their two cents and sharing moments of witty banter and European laughter among themselves that made the Sniper feel a bit like an outsider. It didn't matter, however, seeing as he was getting what he wanted.

He thumbed through a report handed to him while trying to listen at the same time. The poor Sniper was just a bit overwhelmed with the level of secrecy and painstaking detail that he was expected to convey to their comrade, but he'd try his best to do as the Red Spy had asked if for no other reason than to prevent another bitchfest. Bullet upgrades, Barrel upgrades, New Medi-gun syringe compound.. "What's this about the Blu Medics?" "Oh, just take zhat with you." "No doubt you would not be able to understand." "Snipers are a lot smarter than you'd think, mate.." "Heheh.. Perhaps, perhaps." Three of them shared a chuckle while a fourth, the one who had let him in, went to fetch a fresh, unmarked briefcase.

The Sniper watched him load it with photocopies and paperwork before taking the report from him and snapping the whole thing shut and locked. One of the other Spies disappeared and came back with a pair of handcuffs. The two of them approached the Sniper who, uh.. wasn't so sure what was going on.

-

Really? REALLY?

He trudged down the hallway with a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist, staring at it with a look of disbelief. Did they really think he was stupid enough to lose it? Good gravy, he was only going to be traveling across the base! A sigh left him as he turned his eyes up the hallway. A glance at his watch told him it was 4:45. Huh. Plenty of time to do his running around before anyone else woke up. Still, he'd have to get himself something to eat. He'd gotten lunch for himself and the Spy before the man's shower but that wouldn't really be enough to tide either of them over this long.

So his next stop, unfortunately, was the mess hall.

One Scout nudged another with his elbow, pointing at the Sniper as he descended the short steps leading into the room. "Hey, check out the crocodile hunter." "What? ..oh man, that's beautiful; look, he thinks he's a Spy." They stared with obvious amusement as the Aussie walked by them, grinning wildly to one another one he disappeared into the kitchen area.

Once there, the Australian realized something rather obvious. He'd be cooking with a briefcase stuck to him. Looking at it, his shoulder slumped and a sigh left him again. "Well," he murmured with irritated resolve, "I've 'ad worse." He got to work, making a quick sandwich for himself and eating it as he prepared the Spy's meal. Hamburgers, he decided. If the Spy was a vegetarian he could just go hungry!

As he flipped the patties on the stove (with the briefcase laid up on the counter right next to his tethered arm), he became aware of a greeting whistle in the doorway. The Sniper looked over to see a very smug-looking pair of Scouts leaning on the wall. "Yo, wassup?" said one. He recognized him from the other day. That was the little punk who'd been giving him a hard time.

He had to make a decision right here. Would he be spiteful or would he kill 'em with kindness? "Morning boys," he said, deciding upon being cheerful, "You want some?" Gesturing into the pan with his spatula, he reveled in the looks of disappointment on the Scout's faces. Oh, but he knew he wasn't off the hook yet. The other one unfolded his arms and walked forward with his bat up on one shoulder, "Dunno, man. Do you?" He poked at the side of the Sniper's head with the aluminum bat, knocking his hat askew.

The Sniper only reached up and fixed it with his free hand. The Scout sniffed the air, commenting, "You been smokin', man? Smells like a Spy in here!" The other Scout grinned, "Yea, you thinking about switching classes or something?" "Yea, what's with the briefcase?" The more invasive Scout went right up to go stare at it. The Sniper showed a good bit of tolerance and watched him as he flipped the patties again, "Sorry mate, that's classified information."

Laughter could be heard from the door as the Scout there totally lost it. "Aw man! Are you serious!! Dude, what a fuckin' joke." The other Scout straightened his posture and jabbed the Sniper rudely in the side with his bat, "Look at him, dude, what a fuckin' pansy. No wonder he wants to be a Spy." "Yea, I guess hidin' and shooting at weak people wasn't pussy enough for you, huh?" The other Scout finally advanced, smirking as he tossed a ball up and down in his hand. They were both so focused on his face, waiting to see him break. They couldn't wait to see a frown, a sigh, a sign of weakness! ..but they really should have been watching his hands.

Deftly, he switched the spatula from one to the other and, when the other Scout began to jab a little bit too hard, his fingers curled around the handle of the briefcase and sent it roaring into the side of the city boy's head. Much like the baseballs he so often threw, the kid went flying. His bat clanked to the floor and rolled away as he slammed into the floor and clutched his head with a shriek of pain, "AaaaAAaGH!"

The other Scout jolted backward with shock that soon turned to anger, his throwing arm tensing and preparing to throw the ball in his hand full force at the Sniper in front of him. They had a brief standoff; the Sniper held the case near to his chest and stared the boy down as the hamburger meat sizzled in the pan. The Scout waited for the Sniper to move. The Sniper waited for the Scout. "You fuckin'.. You. God damn, dude." "Owww.." the Scout whined from the floor. He clutched at his head, trails of red covering his fingers in a hue very complimentary to his uniform.

"You best take him to a Medic, mate," said the Sniper coldly. He slammed the case down on the counter, his shaded eyes never leaving the young team member. The staring, combined with the sounds of suffering from the other Scout, finally broke the boy's concentration. Gradually his throwing arm lowered, a pissed off sneer locked on his face as he edged around the Aussie and helped his buddy up. "C'mon man. He's fuckin'.. he's fuckin' crazy, c'mon let's go. You'll be sorry you fuckin' asshole! I'm tellin' everybody about this, you hear me!"

The Sniper stood there in silence, reaching forward to shut off the stove top and shuffle the hamburger patties onto a couple of buns.

--
Act 9.
Team Fortress 2 and its characters belong to Valve. Rated T(F2chan) for language, violence, and suggestive themes.
--

The Red Spy was bored.

The evidence of this could have come from a few sources: his frown, his irritable twitch, or the fact that he was currently reading a baby book. Ok, it wasn't a baby book, it was an five-year-old's storybook (the one the Medic had left behind). Not much of an improvement, but it was at least accurate. The puppy went to look for his mommy. He walked up to a bird singing in a tree. 'Are you my mommy?' the puppy asked. "Non, you idiot!" the Spy spat at the delightfully-illustrated pages, "Does zhat look like a dog to you? Are you mad?! What drivel.."

He heard shuffling outside the door, seeing the handle tremble as he glanced over. Wide-eyed, he played hot potato with the book and ended up simply dropping it on the floor. Ungh. At least he wouldn't be caught holding it.. He shuffled down further under the blanket and tried his best to look bedridden as the door swung open and the Red Sniper came inside.

"And Oy'm back," came his greeting, the door nudged shut with a shoulder. "Really? I blinked several times while you were gone." The Sniper needed a moment to process that before realize it'd been what he said just before leaving. "Huh. You're well enough to be a li'le pain, are you?" The Aussie set down the tray he was carrying on the Spy's desk and walked toward the bed to drop the briefcase into the man's lap. His forearm hovered over it, unable to let go. "Your friends said you'd know how to get this open."

The Spy blinked confusedly and then his eyes lit up when he realized what the briefcase meant. Intel! It took him a moment, but he was able to pull up his hand and work on the combination lock keeping the case closed. He was interrupted by the clearing of the Aussie's throat, glancing up to see the Sniper looking expectantly at him and arching a brow. He knew exactly what it was for and kept working, "Zhe key to zhose cuffs eez inside." "..inside?? What a stupid idea." "It is normally kept on one's person.. I assume zhey simply did not trust you."

The Sniper frowned and sighed as he resigned himself to standing there and letting the Spy work at his own pace. Soon the case clicked open and he wasted no time in setting the Aussie free. That cuff had been an unfriendly level of tight and he found himself rubbing his wrist as he stepped back toward the desk, "Thanks, Mate."

"Not at all," the Spy practically purred. He scootched up into a half-seated position and began to leaf through reports and photography like a child with a new toy. The Red Spy was barely paying attention to the Sniper despite his proximity to the sensitive material strewn over his desk. The Aussie, on the other hand, was very focused on what he was doing. He'd prepared another ice bag though he left it in the bucket as he brought the thermometer back to the distracted Spy. "Ahem." "What? ..oh. Zhat again.." he said flatly. "It's not gonna bite you, you know." "I do not like zhe way it feels." "I promise a fever feels much worse, now say ah."

The Spy was still reluctant, though he did cooperate. This time he was able to drum his fingertips on the briefcase while he waited, eyes trying to focus on the thermometer before they flicked upward to watch the Sniper's grim expression. Beep! The Sniper took it away and pushed his hat up to scratch his forehead as he read the numbers, "Huh. 98.9. That's getting somewhere, right?" "Oui.. Perhaps soon zhis whole mess will be over." "Eager to get rid of me?" asked the Aussie as he set the thermometer down and went to grab the man's meal for him.

There was a bit of silence there. The Red Spy found himself unable to answer that even as the Sniper returned with the usual tray. "Well," he prompted himself, "I suppose it depends on your cooking."

The Sniper only smiled, charmed by the Spy's thinly-veiled irritation and his odd brand of hesitant humor. He figured they'd become fast friends over the past few weeks, a feeling supported by the lack of certain insults, certain answers.. It wasn't a sugar-coated relationship, but he liked things the way he liked his coffee -- light on the sugar. So as the Spy choked down his hamburgers and tea (He refused to drink anything else), he began to think about the whole situation.

They didn't speak very much while the man ate and read his intelligence papers, though the Sniper brought up a few points of practical interest. If the Spy was feeling better, would he like him to come around less frequently? What duties would he still need help with? And, lastly, what items would the Spy need brought to him until he could obtain them himself? They ended up with a working system of tasks in the end and after another trip to the washrooms, they again decided upon the same sleeping arrangements as last time.

But this time the Sniper woke before the Spy. Recharged from his lengthy rest the day before, he was almost vibrating with energy. He stole a glance to the sleeping man of mystery, smiling at the papers in his relaxed hand. Though he'd attempted to urge the man to rest, the Spy had insisted on reading for just a little while longer! So he gave in, letting him do just that though it was now obvious he hadn't the stamina for it.

Ah, but he had work to do.

They agreed that if he was feeling better, the Sniper should return to his post -- at least for a little while. He wouldn't need constant supervision and was willing to admit that the gunman's duties to the Red team were needed on the field more than on a single man. His palm carefully made its way to the Spy's forehead, resting there gently as not to wake him. Hm.. warm, but certainly no fever.

He shifted his gaze to the open briefcase, choosing a particularly important-looking document and flipping it over to its clean side. Over at the desk he jotted down a brief note:

Morning, Sunshine,

On-duty. See you in a few hours. Key card is in your pocket.

Amuse yourself,

Sniper

The resulting, "MON DIEU! MY PAPERS!" could be heard faintly from the room about three hours later.

I'm enjoying the story.

That being said, every time you switch speakers, you need to start a new paragraph. It's grammatically incorrect and incredibly confusing to have more than one person speaking within a single paragraph.

And this is where I left off on FF.net. Updates are gonna come a bit slower from here, but I plan to keep on going.

@Hyena: I did think about that, but I thought the difference of accents and mentioning of classes might help determine who was talking. I'll give it some more thought and see how it looks spread out.

--
Act 10.
Team Fortress 2 and its characters belong to Valve. Rated T(F2chan) for language, violence, and suggestive themes.
--

"G'day, mate!" The Red Sniper paused on his way to the hangar door, looking back to see a second Sniper jogging up to him. He decided to wait for him, turning back in his direction with a small smile and an attentive look on his face. Though the man's uniform was similar, there were a few differences. This man was a bit more muscular, his hair a bit longer and dirty blonde, and he had a toothpick sticking out of his mouth. "'aven't seen you in the towers, lately." "Heh.. Haven't been gone so long 'ave I?" They both approached the hangar together.

"Word 'round base is that you've adopted a Spy, izzat it?"

The Sniper groaned good-naturedly and cracked his knuckles with a grin, "Aw here we go.." "So it's true then! Shocking business right there," the blonde said with a marveling tone of voice, "'ow did it happen, mate, you've gotta tell me." "Same way you meet anybody else, I suppose.." "There's rumors too, yeh'know?" "Rumors?" he looked over, "How are there already rumors? Good gravy, it's only been a day.." "Oh, Scouts I imagine.."

The Red Sniper wrinkled his nose, quieting down as the two of them approached the door. The Engineer was busy clanging on the Sentry gun with his wrench. "Howdy, mate. Problems?" The Engie looked up and wiped a bit of sweat from his brow, "Danged Spy slid a sapper in here when I opened up to let some of you boys back in. Had somebody peruse the area, but they didn't find nothin'. You boys had better keep a keen set of eyes."

"Can do, mate," said the blonde Sniper. He gave the Engie a hand up, letting the man go about unlocking and opening the door for them. As he did, the Red Sniper pulled his bow off of his back and loaded an arrow into it. He stared at the darkening scenery outside. A few search lights, a dull breeze, no rain however. The two Snipers decided to walk together though the blonde seemed more relaxed than his dark-haired companion. He drew his Kukri and glanced around while nudging the other Sniper's firing arm, "So, d'you fancy 'im?"

The Red Sniper stopped right where he was and lowered his bow as he looked with exasperation at the other man. "Do I fancy who?" "That Spoy. Word is you attacked a Scout that said somethin' about it, and I wanted to know if it was true is all." A gravelly grunt of annoyance left his throat. "Absolutely not," he said, pulling his bow taught once more and stepping ahead of the blonde. "Bloody pikers runnin' about flappin' their gums.. Do I look like a poofer to you?" "Was only a question, mate, no need to get all a'mess about it." "He took ill and almost died. Decided to help a teammate instead of leavin' 'im behind. There's your answer."

The blonde Sniper quieted down a bit at that, turning it over in his head. Well.. That was a valid reason. It still felt strange though. A Sniper aiding a Spy.. Hell, anyone aiding anyone and not being a Medic was news to him -- especially outside of battle. "Well.. you're a good man then," was all he could muster before parting ways to head across the field and toward his own post.

With him gone, the Red Sniper could focus on other areas of the battlefield. The tower was nearby but.. no. Tonight? Tonight he would prowl a bit..

He took to strafing again, his blatant red uniform liable to make him a walking target even as he stuck to the shadows. Huh.. Quiet night. With any luck, he could get to a fine vantage point in the rocks nearer to the Blu base.. Slowly, steady.. . His shoes pressed softly into the grass and dry dust beneath them, long strides taken with his limber legs as he hunched forward and held his bow sideways.. Pause. He heard a snap and quickly dropped to a full-on crouch. His glasses slid down his nose and he peered around cautiously...

After no sounds followed for almost three minutes, he slowly continued his creeping approach and shuffled past the very ruined crate that had helped to save the Red Spy those days ago. One foot in front of the other, keep your head down; he repeated the cautions to himself in a ritual fashion and pressed on. Past a silo, into an alley, a pause as he stared at a catwalk above him for any signs of enemy sentries.

He was getting close now.. The Blu Base loomed in the distance but he could easily see it from here. He also knew that if Blu's Snipers could hold a candle to Red's, he'd be dead in a matter of moments if he stepped into the open. Wiping some sweat from his brow onto his sleeve, the Sniper moved into a crouch again and took stock of his options. From behind him, a series of smooth clicks were heard. It was all the warning he required to jolt and push himself forward but not before a cold blade slashed into his shoulder, "GRAGH!"

His arrow released prematurely and entirely off aim, whizzing off toward the Blu base's roof and knocking the baseball right out of an enemy Scout's hand.

Back on the field, the Sniper had already dropped his bow and reached for his Kukri while stumbling forward to evade his attacker. He could hear a growl of distaste advancing upon him as he rolled onto his back and caught sight of the lanky Blu Spy pulling his pistol and preparing to fire. The Sniper panicked and rolled to the side just as the barrel leveled and ejected a bullet into the dirt. He wasn't going to take this laying down!

As the Spy got too close, he gripped the grass with his free hand and leveraged himself enough to kick the heel of his shoe into the man's nearest kneecap. "Agh! Merde!" the Spy cried, his leg twisting and failing him while the Aussie scrambled to his feet. Both men attempted to stand and gain the higher ground though it seemed the Sniper would get there first.

Fffshew!

Shit. An enemy Sniper's arrow landed inches from the Red's head, causing him to back away from his opponent and give him the time he needed to roll to his feet. So he ran, darting around the silo with the Spy hot on his heels. He was invisible, he could tell from the scent of whirring machine smoke in the air. The plume smoke of re-entry appeared in front of him. Damnit, damnit! He'd run the other way and as the Sniper tried to skid to a halt, the Spy lashed his butterfly knife across his face.

It might have stung, but the adrenaline rushing through him disallowed any sensation of pain. He gripped his Kukri tightly and brought it swiftly across the Spy's chest and elbowed him forcefully backward. The man pinwheeled and grunted in pain, laying his knife arm across his torso though he managed to lift his pistol and squeeze off a shot as he fell. It struck a lucky target -- the Sniper's left ankle. "G'AH'W!" He stumbled then, grimacing and advancing on the Spy with wide eyes as blood dripped down his cheeks. "C'mere you li'le wanka!" he roared, slashing at the felled Frenchman with his Kukri. The Blu looked terrified, mouth wide open as the Aussie's sharp blade cut deeply into his throat and shoulder.

Blood gushed everywhere, staining the man's long knife and seeping into the ground as he grunted and ripped it free from the dead Spy's flesh. Unfortunately, he took notice of a gold object in what should have been the man's knife hand. A gold watch? It shone dimly, the corpse in front of him sputtering from view and disappearing entirely as he stared at it. It wasn't invisible, it simply wasn't there anymore!

A feeling of dread crawled up his throat as he quickly stood straight and wielded the blade near his chest, turning around and around as he heard the Blu base starting to wake up.. "C'mon guys, they're attackin'!" he heard a Scout shouting. "MM-MMPH!" screamed a pyro. The Sniper was actually beginning to look a bit scared and decided to retreat. He waved an arm wildly to capture the attention of any of the attentive Red Snipers, screaming as he ran, "INCOMING! INCOMING! BLOODY 'ELL, INCOMING!!"

He soon realized the wound in his leg, his run becoming a hopping limp as he struggled to find a position of cover and hold it. The warehouse doors of the Red Base flew open, a short staff of Soldiers and fiery Demomen prepared for duty while a Scout or two made themselves apparent with a straggling Pyro. The Sniper wasn't paying any attention, but one of the Scouts (with a bandaged head) glowered thick death at the Aussie. He immediately blamed him for the late night interruption, but that? That could be handled later..

As the Blu team's night shift flooded around the silo, all hell broke loose.

The Sniper found an uncomfortable sniping position behind an open-backed pile of rubble, dropping his Kukri and taking potshots at anyone who got too close to the base. There was fire, gunning, running, screaming.. How could this happen? The other men had ventured toward the Blu base in the past few days -- the Spies had told him so -- so why him? Why tonight?? He cursed his distractions when an unexpected punch sent him flying to the ground.

He lay there blinking in disorientation as a shadowy form crouched next to him and plucked up his Kukri, "Haw haw.. Now it eez time to die, Monsieur Sniper." Son of a bitch. That nagging rookie Spy! He fumbled around for a method of escape, observing the hesitation that he'd called the Spy on last time. But he'd killed him hadn't he?? The Blu idiot wanted revenge, wanted to see the look of realization in the Sniper's eyes as he thrust his own knife through his heart. And just as he was about to get his wish, a baseball came flying in front left field (his own side) and clocked him on the temple.

The Kukri hit the ground right away though the Spy? He just teetered there for a little while the Sniper sat up grimly and grabbed the front of his suit. He then grabbed one of the man's arms and, in two steps, stood and flung him into the trench just past his crumbling sniping post as hard as his wounded body would allow. He then dropped back into work, fighting tooth and nail until the Blu's were forced to pull back. It became apparent rather quickly that the Red's were not scaling an attack and so the Blu's retreated. Already some of the Reds were toting upgraded weapons which only fueled the Blu motivation to get back to base.

The Sniper's breath came rough as the sounds of fighting died off, his jaw set with pain as he pulled himself to his feet and limped back toward one of the hangar doors. His glasses were gone, he realized. They must have been broken when that dirty Spy had come at his face with that knife. And just as he cleared the hangar door, he met another challenge.. The Scout.

He stood there, his bloodied bat tapping at the side of his ankle with his brow set low..

The Sniper paused to look at him, confusion apparent on his face as the Scout hefted his bat upward and took a swing at him. His first instinct was to throw up his arm and grab the damned thing, but the Spy had slashed his shoulder to the point where it would not rotate properly. This caused a slowing of the impact, but he was not fast enough to stop the Scout when he went at it again and hit him in the head so hard that he slammed against the wall and slumped down dazed.

"You like that, chucklehead??" demanded the Scout, standing over him with spite in his voice.

"Woah, woah, woah! What in tarnation is going on over here, boys??" It was an Engineer, his brows frowning over the edge of his goggles. "You're both Red, nang dabbit, open your eyes!" The Scout grudgingly let up, slinging his bat up onto his shoulder and walking off, "My work here's done, hardhat," he grumbled angrily.

The Sniper sat there. He knew why that had just happened -- it took a moment to occur is all. That Scout had a bad case of injured pride from the mess hall incident. This little number with the Blus was just the cherry on top. But now he was down a bow, down a pair of glasses and.. well.. down for the count. As he tilted his head back against the wall, he looked up at the Engineer and gruffly asked for some help getting to the Medic's office. ..again.

@Hyena: I did think about that, but I thought the difference of accents and mentioning of classes might help determine who was talking. I'll give it some more thought and see how it looks spread out. DO IT FUCKING RIGHT
DOING IT THE WAY YOU'RE DOING IT IS FUCKING WRONG
FULL FUCKING STOP

YOU'RE DOING IT FUCKING WRONG AND IT'S CONFUSING TO THE AUDIENCE. ENGLISH HAS RULES ABOUT HOW THE FUCK YOU PUNCTUATE AND PUT IN LINE AND PARAGRAPH BREAKS FOR THE EASE OF THE READERSHIP BECAUSE IT IS YOUR FUCKING JOB AS A FUCKING AUTHOR TO MAKE IT EASY FOR THE FUCKING READERS TO UNDERSTAND YOUR STUPID BULLSHIT WITHOUT HAVING TO GO BACK AND REREAD IT LOOKING FOR YOUR SHITTY ATTEMPTS AT WRITING OUT ACCENTS AND SHIT. THERE ARE FUCKING RULES IN USING FUCKING ENGLISH WHEN YOU'RE FUCKING WRITING FORMALLY FOR AN AUDIENCE AND YES, FUCKING FANFIC COUNTS AS FUCKING "FORMALLY FOR AN AUDIENCE." IT ISN'T A FUCKING STYLISTIC DECISION THAT YOU GET TO FUCKING MAKE, IT'S THE WAY THE MOTHERFUCKING LANGUAGE WORKS. GET WITH THE FUCKING PROGRAM.

SHAPE THE FUCK UP AND FOLLOW THE RULES OF THE FUCKING LANGUAGE YOU GODDAMN FUCKING INGRATE

Lol. That's really going to motivate me.

>>16

Over-kill?

>>17
You said:
I do listen to suggestions and feedback. Separating dialogue from character to character via paragraph is part of English. If you're writing in it, it's best to follow the rules.

OH GOD SO CUTE I MELTED INSIDE

Seriously, this is just... It makes me so happy! And Sniper taking care of a sick Spy makes me feel better than it usually might because I, too, have the flu.

I'm so eager to see more. And I definitely wouldn't object if Sniper and Spy's friendship became something more... although this is so awesome, romance is not required. ♥

Jesus tittyfucking Christ

This got updated so much while I was trying to type up that one review, awesome. I'm gonna go read what I missed

I did say that and indeed I do.

However, I have no trouble reading things the way they're formatted here. I don't see why anyone would unless they were skimming (in which case they should probably just read when they have free time or not at all if my writing is that terrible).

This story is being written in my free time and is only meant to entertain anyone who feels like reading. I do appreciate people trying to be constructive, but I'm going to be honest and say that I won't alter my entire style of writing to satisfy personal preference.

Plot ideas? Throw them at me. Horrible, reoccurring typo? Let me know.

I try to use proper sentence structure and spelling, surely that's good enough for a goofy, whim-written fanfic as long as it can be understood which, I'm sure, it can.

>>17
If you need MOTIVATION in order to follow THE RULES OF THE FUCKING LANGUAGE then there's really no hope for you. You're not James goddamn Joyce.

>>17

Dude, you need to be motivated to use proper grammar?

Once more with feeling: new speaker, new paragraph. It doesn't /matter/ if it's clear who is speaking (it's not, by the way), if you don't start a new paragraph it is /wrong/.

You should really chill out, Owl. You seem very upset.

Horrible, reoccurring typo? Let me know. NOT KNOWING HOW TO USE PARAGRAPH BREAKS COUNTS AS A HORRIBLE, RECURRING TYPO.

I try to use proper sentence structure and spellingBUT APPARENTLY PROPER PARAGRAPH STRUCTURE IS OPTIONAL?

as long as it can be understood which, I'm sure, it can. NO, IT CAN'T. IT ISN'T THE FUCKING READER'S FAULT IF YOUR STORY IS HARD TO UNDERSTAND (AND IT IS! THE READER SHOULD NOT FUCKING HAVE TO GO BACK AND REREAD THE PARAGRAPH TWO OR THREE TIMES IN ORDER TO DETERMINE THE SPEAKER, BECAUSE IN ENGLISH THERE SHOULD ONLY BE ONE SPEAKER PER PARAGRAPH!)

>>25
I wouldn't have to be upset if you weren't a fucking retard who refuses to admit when you are inarguably factually wrong.

You don't have to be upset regardless. It's a fic on a fan community website. Relax.

And you don't have to be a retard - yet you do.

I have no trouble reading things the way they're formatted here. don't see why anyone would unless they were skimming when I came across it on FF.net, I had problems at first trying to read it. It really is confusing, and no, I wasn't skimming

I do appreciate people trying to be constructive, but I'm going to be honest and say that I won't alter my entire style of writing to satisfy personal preference.
oh...just ugh. I could feel my stomach churning at that. as much as I was trying to get into this fic, you're attitude is turning me off it. You instantly reminded me of someone I knew who refused to accept any form of critique, no matter how honest or harmless it was. crits are meant to help and point out where you can improve. Especially when it's a crit like this concerning grammar/paragraph structure. I in no way label myself as an english wiz, but I know I'm not gonna go off and draw a picture, forego everything I know about anatomy, and then try to pass the mess of crap it would be as merely 'style'. you're doing yourself a great disservice

dude. I wanted to know why owl was so frustrated at the noob, so i came to try and read this story. I got 3 paragraphs in and went "wait what" because I had NO IDEA who was talking or to whom or what was going on at all.

Grammar rules are there for the reader, not the writer, so pull your head out of your ass, say you're sorry, and don't do it again. Prove to us that you're neither retarded nor 12, because I /know/ that 12 year olds know to do paragraph breaks when someone new speaks.

Also - "I do listen to suggestions and feedback." Well, I suppose you're listening, but it's not registering in your brain.

>>21

I won't alter my entire style of writing to satisfy personal preference.
Seriously? If your writing style is squashing everyone's dialogue into one confusing, incorrect paragraph, you really ought to fix that shit.

>>32
If she doesn't know the difference between "style of writing"/"personal preference" and "BASIC RULES ABOUT HOW THE ENTIRE GODDAMN LANGUAGE WORKS AND IS PUT TOGETHER" I don't think there's any hope for her at all, and all we can do is hope that she doesn't continue to follow in James Joyce's footsteps by making an /afanfic/ entry about fart-sniffing or something.

Well then, would you all prefer if I simply stopped updating here? The only reason I posted here in the first place was on the off chance that a TF2 fan might enjoy it.

If you would like me to stop here, I can gladly do that and remove my posts. I'm sorry to have upset you all so terribly over something as trivial as a paragraph.

Please advise.

Yes, please leave in an epic dramabomb caused entirely by your own inability to understand basic rules of grammar and usage and subsequent refusal to acknowledge that you might be wrong about something. That totally puts you on the higher ground and makes you special!

I do appreciate people trying to be constructive, but I'm going to be honest and say that I won't alter my entire style of writing to satisfy personal preference.
Dear, 'it's my style' isn't an excuse, especially if it's interfering with your audience's ability to enjoy what you're writing. And it obviously is.

If you would like me to stop here, I can gladly do that and remove my posts. I'm sorry to have upset you all so terribly over something as trivial as a paragraph.
We're not trying to chase you off, we're trying to help you improve; so why not accept the criticism and attempt to fix the problem rather than cry and run away?

>>34

Please do stop posting here. You are an idiot, and the chan can gladly do without your stupid belly aching bullshit.

DON'T LET THE DOOR HIT YOU ON THE ASS ON YOUR WAY OUT!

>>34
either learn from your mistakes and realize these crits are actually trying to help you or ignore it, don't be an adult about it and leave in a hissy fit

Dude. Grammar rules are there for the /reader/, not to piss off writers. I CANNOT READ THIS FIC. It's not even a matter of /want to/ or /not want to/, it's a matter of CANNOT. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO READ YOUR FIC. Style or not (and unfortunately, ignoring basic grammatical rules is NOT a stylistic choice, darling) - I think you and I can both agree this is an issue that an author ought to take care of, and not complain about. This is not a matter of /my/ intelligence, it's a matter of your willful disregard of English. Do you take this kind of tact with the law as well? Breaking it and then telling the police that it's your "style"?

Also I believe I asked you to prove that you're /not/ twelve. Ragequitting the chan over something "as trivial as a paragraph," as you put it, is certainly not going to do so.

Whoooa what, I am taking way too long to read today, because I just got done reading... whatever just happened here.

Maybe it's the flu medicine, but this dialogue was easy to navigate until I actually thought about it. Now that I really look at it, though, it's obviously messed up. Author, you can fix this a lot just by hitting the enter key at the right spot; it's not like you need to do some gigantic overhaul, just press the key whenever a new speaker comes along. But hey, whatever.

It seems like you may have already left, which honestly feels like a cop-out/ragequit, but hey, your choice. And I mean, mistakes and rage aside, I really do like this, but the drama level skyrocketed, so maybe it's for the best.

>>30
Oh, but that IS actually a drawing style.

>>41
true, but it's good to know and understand the foundation of anatomy first
like it's good to know the basics of say...grammar if you're going to write a fic, that merely the point I was trying to convey

hey guys, what's going on in this thread?

Oh, you know.... stuff.

KNOCK KNOCKA KNOCK.
This was as far as I got before I stopped reading. Then again, I /do/ have headache...

Jesus, I go to take a nap that turns into just going to sleep and I wake up the next morning and this happens. I can't leave this chan alone without some major shit going down, can I?

I really love this story, but I have to agree that the paragraph structure has me re-reading often to follow dialog. I got used to it after awhile, though.

Please, can we all calm down? MilleniaM, you've posted a great story on a notoriously critical chan and the only thing they've criticized is the format. That's something of a compliment around these parts. Everyone else, you have made your points known, whether or not the author chooses to address the issue will not be influenced by rehashing what you've already said.

If it's any consolation, this anon has some hangups about writing but enjoyed the story regardless. You have good characterization and an amusing storyline going on; I'll likely be checking for your updates on ff.net in the future.

Unfortunately, angry caps lock rageposts aside, you really do need to clean up the paragraph format. It would make it easier on this reader's eyes as well as most others, and what you have is actually quite cute. I think it would've been received quite well if you fixed up the paragraphs; I was able to navigate but it was a bit of a pain (read through this at about 2 AM).

You can claim it as a stylistic choice but grammar really is something that everyone should follow. Good luck with your future writing projects.

Did I miss something? It looks fine to me...or maybe I'm just blind?

>>52
yeah you're just blind or stupid

I get what there suggesting but I was able to read it just fine, and I wish you would continue but whatever happens, happens.

This story will continue on FF.net for those interested. I will not post anything here until I have gotten better about grammar and formatting.

Thank you to those with good intent for encouraging me to continue, flames are not always necessary to incite change.

Is your ff.net name the same as it is here? Or the story title?

I'm looking forward to following some good ol' comradeship.

Oh sorry, yea, same story title, different username.

It'll be finished soon, but with any luck the writing bug should strike again.

Look, sweetheart, I'm just going to point out that if you didn't react to being given actual helpful advice by sticking your fingers in your ears and going WELL THAT'S MY STYLE MAYBE I'LL THINK ABOUT CHANGING IT, I would not have given enough of a shit about you to have told you off at all.

Don't act like a little shit and you won't get yelled at.

Erm..can someone point out the style you guys are referring to?

I am seriously not seeing the problem...Don't get mad at me please.

>>59
Paragraph breaks or lack thereof.

I'm gonna have to agree with everyone who's saying that this is hard to read. It was all well and good until dialog started running together and my eyes just glazed over.

But I have to say, I don't think anyone in here should have gotten as angry as they did. Ragequitting the chan was an overreaction, but so was ANGRY ALL CAPS INSULTS, nearly straight off the bat, in my opinion. Of course, I'm kind of a doormat, and it looks like Millenia isn't reading the thread anymore, so feel free to disregard my wall of text.

Seriously. What is going on here. Some of you are just screaming wolves.
I can't be the only one who has no problem reading this. Sure, more paragraph breaks might make the dialog easier to follow, but personally I think it tends to make it seem... ah, slow? Not sure what the correct word is.