[translations and more information always at the bottom]
Prolog
The Hunt
By nothing more but mere luck the last bullet had missed him. He had given up looking over his shoulder, trying to spot the shooter – it was too dark and the field offered too many possibilities to hide, but only for someone who was familiar with this area. Darkness had fallen over the landscape hours ago and only the crescent faintly illuminated his surroundings with its clear, cold light, making him an easy target for a skilled eye while his own could hardly distinguish the different outlines of obstacles from shadows. Night-blind and on the run at this late hour - he knew he had been lucky so far not to be shot and not to have broken a bone yet.
He jumped to the side when a sudden rustling noise came from his left, only to see that a small creature of the size of a hare scurried through the night. Silently he scowled as the animal reminded him of the Scout – he couldn't curse aloud, breathing already started to hurt.
'They chase me' – the brat had said.
'Take the documents and safely wander home, nobody gonna notice.'
Great plan.
Somebody had noticed and that somebody fired at him, hunted him through the night like his helpless prey. He had already been far away enough to only see the silhouette of the building against the night – more or less only visible for him because of the illuminated windows - when the first bullet hit the dust only a few inches to his left. The next a few inches to his right.
And when another shot whistled past his ear, touched his hair and almost knocked off his glasses, only half an inch away from his skull, he realized it – he was hunted, and if the shooter really wanted to kill him right away he would have done so. Instead, he was used as a toy, by a bored marksman who had probably been guarding his spot for hours and was only too ready to amuse himself with a cruel live entertainment show.
He ran as fast as he could, stumbled over the rough ground more than once – being unable to see roots or stones until he fell over them made things worse - and after avoiding one bullet by taking cover behind a trunk a quick, sharp pain shot through his ankle – sprained. No, he wasn't in the shape for this, after all, he wasn't the fighter of the team. His only asset against the hunter was his swiftness and obviously all this would earn him was to live a few minutes longer. And mean more enjoyment for the shooter.
But he gritted his teeth. He had suffered from more serious injuries and had always been able to escape; a little pain wouldn't stop him from surviving.
The rabbit had disappeared into the night and the last bullet had flown about two minutes ago – a short time that didn't tempt him to decrease his speed. On the contrary, he tried to muster up what strength and breath he had left – ignoring the burning pain in his lungs – and ran as fast as he could, his hope growing with every passing second. Maybe the hidden attacker had really run out of ammo. If that was true he would have a real chance to survive this. In spite of himself he began to hope he would get out of this mess alive.
Although only filled with paper sheets the leather suitcase in his hand felt heavy, like filled with lead. His hand already hurt from gripping the handle so frantically that his knuckles shone white. The dirt beneath his boots was dry – it hadn't rained for a week – and the ground was hard, yet he almost slipped when his weary feet lost their grip. He managed not to fall down. Staggering forward he risked another look behind and almost froze in his movement. The dark world in front of him was a diffuse mass in his eyes, but he was sure he saw a shadow moving, still several feet away, between two rocks, and he felt his blood turning cold. The marksman had followed him. A hand-to-hand fight meant his defeat.
He ran on, half turned around, cold sweat on his forehead and his heart pumping.
'Wo ist er?'
He tried to listen into the darkness, but the sound of his own panting was too loud, as was his heartbeat, and the blood that rushed through his ears drowned every noise around him.
Hectically his eyes wandered from one rock to tree trunks and back, but strange shadows already mixed with reality, confusing his vision, hindering his brain from distinguishing existing shapes from nightly illusions. He only hesitated for the part of a second as a new, whistling sound, quite different from a bullet, cut through the air - and a sudden pain forced a cry from his mouth when the head of an arrow pierced through his clothes right into the flesh of the side of his hip. The hope to escape shattered.
Being out of ammunition didn't stop his predator, he had simply switched weapons.
Clenching his teeth he gripped the arrow by its shaft and pulled it out at one go without wavering any more second. He turned forward and ran as fast as he could, now hunted by arrows instead of bullets and he wasn't sure if it was his luck again or the man's skill that several projectiles kept missing again.
Another arrow hit the dirt more than four feet to his right and he prayed that the man's aim finally grew tired. Then he suddenly heard rushing footsteps on the solid earth and the next hit its mark – the suitcase. The shooter wasn't weary – he ran and shot both at the same time.
Adrenaline flowed through his body as the sheer fear for his life gave him another boost of speed and stamina.
The next shot hit his left calf. His throat was too sore for screaming, so he fell down with nothing more than a pathetic, pained cry while the marksman quickly closed the distance.
x x x
The arrowhead had buried itself too deep into his leg, he knew he couldn't pull it out as easily as the first one. Desperately he fought the pain and the wish to simply lie down and be over with it – instead he got back on his right foot, reaching for the suitcase that lay next to him on the earthy ground. But before he could leap forward something – or rather someone – pulled him back.
The man had grabbed his coat and only a second later wrapped his arms around his waist and held him back from escaping.
Both fell into the dirt and he struggled to turn around, his back now on the hard ground. The stranger bending over him was stronger and pushed him down easily – when he tried to shove him away and punch him the man simply seized his wrists and pinned him down. A wide, crimson hood that had hidden his face before had slid down, his angular features now clearly visible in the moonlight even for his eyes.
His leg felt numb after the shaft of the arrow had broken during their downfall. And straddled by the hunter, held down like this made him suddenly aware of how helpless he was. Nothing but an inarticulate sound came from his dry mouth when he tried to cry for help, a worthless effort even if he had succeeded. They were alone, somewhere in the fields and he didn't even know how far away from Red's base they were. He winced under the weight of the man's tall body, his feet digging deep into the dirt as he fought him, but all he gained was losing what had remained of his breath all the faster. Suddenly, the man laughed, half amused, half in amazement.
"Aye, there I thought I'm huntin' a serious threat and who did they send? Their nurse!" The hunter chuckled. "Sorry there, Miss, hope ya ain't minding my manners, mate, I mean, my lady."
Angrily, he swallowed a sharp response. Being a Medic wasn't as easy as many people thought and it was bad enough he wasn't much of a fighter, especially with a sprained ankle and two wounds caused by arrows. He hated being mocked.
"I show you lady, Arschloch." he hissed.
"Eh, what's that, German?" the Sniper asked and the Medic took advantage of the little distraction and freed one of his arms from the man's grip. With one swift motion he seized him by his hair, pulled him down and kissed him. Nothing passionate, just his mouth against the stranger's, his tongue licking over his enemy's lower lip, teasingly slow. 'Stale coffee.'
"Bloody... what the...?"
His surprise attack showed the effect he had hoped for. In shock the stranger sat up, setting the Medic's other arm free.
The German didn't hesitate and before the shooter could react and pin him down again he had lifted his good leg and kneed him in the groin.
"UGH!" Rolling to his side, the stranger gasped for air and held his crotch. Just when the Medic had taken hold of the suitcase a large hand reached for his coat again. He swung around and hit the corner of the case as hard as he could against the marksman's temple. Without reassuring himself if he had knocked him out he walked away as fast as he could, his shot leg limping, and cursed under his breath.
x x x
"Ah, monsieur Snipèr, we missed you."
The Spy had been searching for his teammate for a while now and was relieved to find him alive.
"Did you retrieve ze documents from ze intruder?"
"Nah." the Sniper growled and carefully touched the side of his head. It didn't bleed. But it hurt enough to tell him that he would awake with an uncomfortable headache the next morning.
"Do not tell me 'e outran your bullets, mon ami."
"Nah." he repeated, flinching. "My fault, guess I got carried away with a little game. Hadn't seen he had the suitcase with him at first, thought their Scout got it from what ya guys told me by radio."
"Eh bien. I zink you know now zat zis was not ze case." the French stated, looking at the Sniper reproachfully.
"Well, it was the case and their Medic." The Sniper smirked at his weak pun; the Spy only lifted an eyebrow in surprise.
"A Medic? Mon dieu, and you did not catch 'im? Did 'e knock you out? Give me zat, you are busy wiz your bow and 'olding your big 'ead." Frowning he took the case with the Sniper's rifle from the man's hand.
"Thanks mate. Actually, he did knock me out, for a minute or so. Hits like a girl." He chuckled.
"You are an imbecile, why did you not run after 'im, not catch 'im? Did you not 'it 'im at all wiz your silly arrows?" Of course he had noticed the empty quiver on the Sniper's back. So he had really gotten carried away, using the huntsman instead of the rifle was always proof that their marksman didn't take a prey seriously.
"'course I did."
"Zen why not chasing after 'im? Ze boss is furious, I don't zink she will let ze matter slide zis time."
The Sniper chuckled again.
"Ain't afraid of that old girl. And that Medic put up a good fight. And besides," he grinned at the Frenchman. "chasin' a nurse zrough ze night is not 'ow we should treat a lady, non?"
The Spy laughed at the imitation of his accent.
"'onestly, Sniper, better zink of a better excuse for ze Administrator. Zis instinct of play of yours will get you in serious trouble ozerwise."
x x x to be continued x x x
This. Uh. Okay.
First the warnings:
another TF2-fanfic by moi, about - Sniper/Medic
rather OC
Harmless so far but sooner or later there will be slash so whoever isn't comfortable with this, sorry, you won't enjoy this.
About the story -
Okay, my beta celebrated her birthday a while ago and as I had nothing else to offer I wrote her something she wished for since... August 2011? Namely a Medic hunted by Sniper.
And as I usual wondered about reasons and consequences suddenly, a wild story appeared.
It won't be as enormous or deep as Snowbowl but well, it's a story with a plot.
And after hours and hours we even found a title xD
We welcome you to:
"Vestimentum non facit monachum"
(Clothing does not make the monk)
I hope you'll like it ^^
I plan to update regularly on Wednesdays, but I can't promise that. I'll try though.
Translations:
"Wo ist er?" - "Where is he?"
"Arschloch." - "Asshole."
