(Like most of my stuff this is unbetad so apologies for any spelling mistakes or other errors you might find.)

The problem with only having one small town nearby was that sometimes awkward encounters like this happened.

There was only a single decent place to get a drink there and all the RED Spy wanted was a quick self-congratulatory glass of red wine for a job well done. Instead his good mood was entirely spoiled by the sight of the BLU Sniper sitting at the bar.

Spy's eyes darted around the room, looking for more BLUs but the Sniper seemed to be the only one around. He'd risk it. No reason to let the filthy jarman ruin everything. He chose a stool as far away as possible from his enemy, but the bar was small and there was no one else between them. The Sniper tilted his head back to take a swig from what appeared to be his fourth drink of the evening, if the other bottles were anything to go by. He must have caught sight of a flash of red in his peripheral vision because he froze with the bottle still pressed to his lips. He put it down carefully and like Spy, surreptitiously checked for more enemy team mates. Finding yourself alone in the middle of town at night and surrounded by enemies never ended well. That was a lesson both of them had learnt the hard way..

Seeing that the Spy was by himself this time, the BLU Sniper's lips twisted into a sneer.

Spy ignored him altogether as he hailed the the passing barman with a raise of his hand. The barman took Spy's order but kept glancing between him and the glowering BLU.

'We will remain civil,' Spy promised. Then he turned towards the Sniper and said, 'Wont we, bushman?' Across from him the barman tensed. He'd had a lot of his property destroyed by the two teams over the years. He didn't try and kick either of them out though. For one thing, the mercenaries tended to leave excellent tips and for another, they were mercenaries. Besides, their employers always paid for repairs. All the same, it could get rather frightening when things got heated between them. Especially if either of those flamethrower fellas were involved.

'You know,' Spy said with disarming casualness as he waited for his drink to be served, 'I wouldn't have thought this would be your kind of place at all, bushman.'

The Sniper's only response was the subtle clench of his jaw.

'Surely, I don't know, the Hangman's Noose would be more suitable?'

The Hangman's Noose was an establishment trying and failing miserably to be an old English style pub in the middle of New Mexico.

The Sniper frowned. 'That place is a shithole.'

'Yes,' Spy agreed, taking a delicate sip from the wine glass he'd just received. It was a very loaded 'yes' that Spy left up to the Sniper to interpret for himself.

'Surprised to see you in this place myself.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah. Way you and your Sniper disappeared off for so long this time I thought you must have both finally eloped. Or died.'

'Aww, Bushman, you've missed me! How sweet.' Spy's voice was pitched in exactly the sickly-sweet way he knew would irritate the Sniper the most.

'No I fucking didn't.' The pleasant tipsy haze the marksman had been enjoying up until the enemy Spy arrived had dispersed entirely, leaving him to reflect on how unpleasantly strange this situation was. Him and the RED Spy never talked to each other unless it was insults traded along with punches and kicks or promises of revenge gasped out with dying breaths. Just sitting here at a bar needling at each other with barbed comments was an unwelcome change. He tried to pinpoint exactly why. It was probably because it meant he couldn't kill the man. Then again, they weren't on the battlefield currently. He could always just kill the bastard off once and for all, consequences be damned.

To distract himself from that appealing thought and the Spy's presence, he took another swig of his disappointing lager.

The Spy couldn't leave well enough alone though. 'Tell me, Bushman, how have you been finding my temporary replacement? I expect it's practically been a holiday for you without me here.'

Honestly, it had. The RED Spy and Sniper they drafted in whenever the usual two were away were nowhere near as skilled. He wasn't going to let the Spy know that though.

'Eh, 'bout the same really. He doesn't know the map so well though so I guess he's been at a disadvantage. That other Sniper's shit though. I've put so many bullets through his brain you could probably hear them rattling around in that empty head of his if you gave him a good enough shake.'

He glanced sideways at the Spy to gauge his reaction. All he saw was a sardonic, disbelieving little smile on the man's face which was compete bullshit because that second bit had been practically true.

'Where you guys been anyway?' he said to change the subject. 'My team, and by the sounds of it, half your team as well, has a bet going on that you and your Sniper keep disappearing off so you can bang him. Well, actually, the best money's on the other way round.'

The Spy just raised one arched brow and took a sip of his wine. He paused to contemplate the glass thoughtfully for an infuriatingly long time before saying, 'As much as I believe that the good things in life should be... savoured, even I wouldn't take three weeks out to "bang" a team mate, if I were so inclined that way. No, our employers have simply been assigning us to some more interesting and challenging missions than this petty little war. I'm afraid to tell you though that it's on a strictly need-to-know basis. And you, dear bushman, simply don't need to know.'

The Sniper's grip on his bottle tightened as he fought the urge to glass the skinny little bastard right there and then. The only response he could think to give was a small shrug as he tried to hide how much the Spy was getting to him. It was a waste of time. The Spy always knew somehow.

Just as Spy opened his mouth to say something else mocking, five rowdy men pushed their way into the bar. He protectively moved his wine glass closer as the men jostled up against him, all apparently too intent on joking among themselves and trying to get the barman's attention to notice the masked man sitting there.

Then one bumped against him and almost knocked his glass over. Their hand shot out and caught it just before it spilled everywhere; a surprising show of good reflexes for a man who was swaying drunkenly.

'Eh, sorry,' he slurred, 'Sorry 'bout that. Here's yeh drink.'

Spy plucked it out of the man's fat hands with a small nod of thanks and an irritable expression on his face. It was hard to tell, but on the other side of the bar it sounded like the BLU Sniper was having similar problems if his shout of, 'Oi!' was anything to go by.

Spy sighed and raised his glass back to his lips. Now his good mood had been ruined, the mediocre wine seemed to taste even more bitter than before.

It was only a couple of minutes before Spy started to get a headache. This bar could usually be rallied on to maintain a relatively low sound level. But these strangers appeared to have no respect for the other clientele. That was the problem with groups of people drinking together; everyone egged each other on and had increasingly loud and boisterous conversations as the drinks went down.

Spy decided to give up and just finish his drink and leave. The Sniper seemed to have had a same idea. He stumbled past Spy, looking grumpy.

'Over-indulged, have we, bushman?'

The marksman glared at him blearily. 'Surr'up. Haven't even had that much, not that much... not that much to drink.'

'Of course you haven't,' Spy replied with a smirk. He watched the Sniper make his unsteady way out of the room. Almost immediately, two of the newcomers made noisy excuses to leave as well. Spy was curious. Was it just a coincidence, or were the men looking for trouble? That would be amusing to watch.

He tipped back the last of his wine and made to follow. The stressful mission he and the RED Sniper had just returned from must have got to him more than he realised. He felt lethargic and unusually unbalanced on his feet. Maybe he should stay in one of the local hotels rather than return to the base that night. Spy wasn't sure if he was in any state to drive. Though he hadn't any worries for himself if he crashed, he didn't fancy risking damage to his red lamborghini miura.

Either way, the night air would clear his head and seeing two drunk men trying to mug or fight the BLU Sniper would cheer him up immensely.

Spy only got a couple of steps outside the building when the whole world began to pitch and sway. He tried to keep moving forward but found himself veering straight into a nearby wall.

'Whuuu?' This wasn't right. This wasn't right at all.

He'd been drugged.

The terrible realisation shot through him just as a pair of strong hands grabbed hold of him from behind. Spy tried to shake them off, but his movements were sluggish and weak.

There was no time for him to do anything more before the darkness eating away at the edge of his vision consumed it entirely, plunging him into unconsciousness.

Him came back around in fits and starts, his brain registering tiny fractions of his situation at a time.

Cold.

Head hurts.

Sitting down.

Can't move legs.

Can't move arms.

Head really hurts.

God, I feel like throwing up

Something's wrong

Don't throw up.

Head hurts.

Cold.

Spy pried open his heavy eyelids to try and help him piece it all together. The image that met his gaze was not a promising one.

He was in a damp room lit by a single dim bulb dangling from a tangle of exposed wires. Underground by the looks of it. Grey breeze-block walls. Dusty spider webs clinging to the corners. A concrete floor.

There was an empty chair bolted down by metal plating and screws. They looked new, incongruously bright and shiny in this bleak little room. There were thick leather straps hanging from the chair.

Spy flexed his arms and felt restraints pull at his wrists and elbows. Looks like he had a matching set.

A quick glance around the room made his head hurt more than ever, but it revealed that he was all alone. Spy tested his bonds one by one, searching for a loose tie he could use to help him escape. There were none. The only things he could move freely were his fingers and head. Everything else was strapped down so tightly that he could already feel his feet going numb. Or maybe that was just a side effect of whatever drug had been slipped into his drink. Because that was the only viable conclusion to draw. Someone had put something in his wine.

Who?

Not the bartender, he made too much money off the mercs to want to lose their patronage in such a dramatic fashion.

His thoughts jumped to the BLU Sniper. Was this him finally getting revenge for all those backstabs? The muted panic Spy had been trying to keep down bubbled up inside him. There was really no telling what that man might do if he had the RED Spy trapped and vulnerable, entirely at his mercy.

Except, this really wasn't the Sniper's style. He was much more direct and to the point. He wasn't this devious, and he certainly wasn't this clever.

Which meant that a third, unknown party must have him. Those men at the bar. They'd been involved, hadn't they?

Whoever it was, they left him long enough for fear of the unknown to really settle in. But Spy was tough. He'd been trained to handle these kinds of situations. He could cope for however long it took for someone to come looking, which he knew they must do. His employers had been expecting him to phone in soon and he was nothing if not reliable and punctual. They'd know something was wrong. They'd come looking for him. Probably.

Spy tensed as he heard footsteps approaching. Heavy, lazy steps down a flight of stairs and across a short corridor, by the sounds of it. A key grated in a lock and a door behind Spy opened, light flooding in around him. He squinted over his shoulder at the man framed in the doorway. A stranger. Broad-shouldered and muscular. Dressed in a suit that was wasn't quite the right size and cut for him.

The man slammed the door shut behind him; the sudden return to dim-lighting disorientating Spy for a moment. But it didn't matter. He could cope.

The man walked slowly over to Spy and paused right behind him. He placed on hand on the back of the chair and leaned on it, his bulk making the wood beneath him groan. Spy refused to be intimidated.

'Is this how you go about meeting new people?' he asked. 'Drugging them and tying them up? If so I'm afraid it says very little for your social skills.'

A low chuckle came from the man behind him. 'Bravado. How predictable. Now, Mr Conover, I represent a group of people who were rather... upset at the recent disruption you caused by murdering one of their associates.'

Jonathan Conover. His cover name from the mission before last. Him and Sniper had thought they'd finished the head of that organisation off. Now it was sounding more as though they'd just gone and cut off one head of the hydra. This was interesting information. Spy just wasn't looking forward to what was going to happen before he had a chance to pass it along.

'One of my employers has found himself having to admit that he's rather impressed with how smoothly you and your partner acted. However, I'm afraid that you left a few too many clues behind to escape altogether.'

Spy's mind raced from possibility to possibility. What had they done to lead the enemy right back to them? Or more likely, what had Sniper done?

'And now my employers have a few questions they've asked me to get out of you. And trust me, I will.'

Spy fought the impulse to say something cliché like, 'do your worst!' or, 'I'll never talk!.'

Instead he just said, 'You know, tying me to a chair really doesn't put me in a very chatty mood, I'm afraid. Not really my kind of thing. Now, if you tied me to a bed with two or three pretty girls in the room, that might get me talking.'

'Hmm.' The man almost sounded amused. 'You know, we've been doing some digging on you, Mr. Conover. Or should we say, "Spy"?'

He refused to let any reaction show on his face. What more did they know that they shouldn't?

'I know you're trained to resist torture. I also know you're the one with the answers I want. So this leaves me with a bit of a predicament on my hands, doesn't it? You'll break eventually. They always do, but I think that with you, a little extra incentive might be required.'

Spy's mind leapt through the horrible possibilities. What ever it was, he could cope. He could handle this. He was sure.

The man leant in closer until Spy caught an odd scent of peppermint, and said right behind his ear, 'If torturing you gets me no answers, how about I start with your partner instead?'

Despite himself, something flipped over in Spy's stomach. Him and Sniper had always been known as the two REDs with the stormiest relationship. After working together on so many other little missions though, they'd been forced to grudgingly accept each other's strengths and talents. It had taken a long time for things to shift that much but it was the unfortunate truth that somehow along the lines he'd started to actually care about the Australian. Not in the manner the crude rumours suggested, but in a strong enough way that it was a weakness waiting to be exploited all the same.

He could cope with this though. Right?

The man left the room without another word and all Spy could so was sit there and worry while trying really hard not to.

Soon, more footsteps reached his ears and the sound of a scuffle. Maybe Sniper was escaping? That would be nice; Spy could really do with a bit of rescuing right now. Not that he'd ever let Sniper know that the situation wasn't exactly under control though.

But then there was a thud and a muffled cry of pain and the dull thump thump thump of something being dragged down the stairs. Spy winced. That had to hurt. And by the sounds of it, it was only the start of worse things to come.

The broad-shouldered man led the way as he and two other men entered the room. Spy wouldn't crane his neck around to look. He refused to show vulnerability.

'Now,' the man said, 'this is how things will go. I am going to ask you a question, and if you don't answer me or I don't like what I hear, your friend here is going to face the consequences. So it's up to you, does your partner suffer for your silence or not?'

Spy said nothing.

'Tie him up.'

The two men dragged Sniper into view and dumped him into the chair. He slumped down, boneless and weak while they dragged his limbs into place and yanked the leather restraints over him tightly.

Spy could tell that the Sniper was concious by the small, pained groans escaping him.

And Spy could see, even in the dim light, that he was dressed in blue.

Relief flooded through him.

They were going to torture the wrong Sniper.