It had started with a cough.
A simple thing, he was a smoker after all. Not too much to worry about. It was just…heavier than the normal, occasional cough when his throat got too roughed up to hold back anymore.
When it continued over a few weeks, though, that's when Sniper began to worry. It took even longer to convince Spy to confront their medic about it, and when they had, well. It wasn't pretty. Blaise coughed into the hand that wasn't being squeezed by a rather tensed up Michael, who seemed more worried about this than the spy himself.
"Mick, calm down- I'm the dying one, yet you're…what is that phrase you use-"
The answer was a mumble, the Australian's face buried in the crook of his arm. "A cat on hot bricks."
"Right, right, the cat." He gently squeezed the man's hand, running his thumb over the knuckles. "Just- for a moment, calm down, alright? We haven't a clue if it can be fixed so…hope for the best. It's all we can do."
At that, Medic peeked over his test results. "I mean; you can't do much more, no. I can, though. Looking over this…you're pretty far in, stage wise. Normally people go for radiation, so we can start with that. That should slow down the growth, which is good, because I'll need as much time as possible to create any sort of cure. I have access to black market items, so who knows?"
Michael chewed his bottom lip and scowled. "You think you can create a cure- a cure- for something no one has before, because you can reach the black market? Don't pull this bullshit. This last minute hope shit isn't helpful, it's tortu-"
"Michael, shut up." Sniper tensed, then returned to skulking. Spy, rather irate now, pulled his hand away from the Australian's in order to stand.
"Now, Medic… Gebhard, thank you. For the diagnosis. And if you wish to attempt making a cure, I'll try to provide as much payment as I can for what you've created, and what it took to make such a cure. I'm going to go, enjoy your weekend of ceasefire, gentlemen."
And then he was gone. By the time Sniper has enough wits about him to follow, the man's bedroom was locked, and upon knocking he remained absolutely silent. Either Blaise had left, or he wanted to be left, simply. The first option was…possible, Blaise kept a keychain (his room key and the one for his car) in his pocket, the one he could button close to make sure it didn't fall out. The option seemed more likely, though, since it didn't feel like he'd had the time to leave. It didn't seem that was where he was headed when he left, either. No. Spy had looked determined to go think, which he did best in his room.
It was set up to be quiet, tranquil. It had to be; Spy used it to unwind after the administrator sent him out to do things outside of the normal job, outside respawn. Where fear was a real thing.
"Blaise… Staying alone isn't going to help, let me in."
"What? So you can suggest a one percent chance to continue my life shouldn't be worked on, because it will give you false hope?" The voice was quiet; he wasn't crying, obviously, he didn't often, but Michael could recognize that he was hurt all the same.
"You know that's not what I meant…" His forearm rested on the door, skin hot against cold painted metal.
"I know it's what you said. That's what I know." It was followed by Spy coughing, the sound heavy and wet. God, it sounded like it hurt a lot.
"Just- let me in." There was a click, two, and three as the spy undid the several locks he had.
It wasn't astonishing exactly, where Spy had repositioned himself in the room after unlocking the door, but it was definitely a tad strange. He was sitting cross legged, accentuating the fact that he was a rather thin and long man in all aspects. His arms were crossed over his knees, hands dangling over his legs. He had made his room appear a cave of some sort, a bunk bed with the bottom mattress removed to make space for a desk, neat folders with several files, and a computer. He was perched atop the upper mattress, however, toes edging over the end of the bed. He had his disguise kit, complete with cigarettes next to him on the bed, a cigarette in one hand. He was just…staring at it. A tongue darted out to wet dry lips before teeth followed, chewing until the skin was starting to bloom red. Yet Blaise remained quiet. He didn't seem to have anything else left to say, really.
Blaise could hear a few creaks, feeling the bed shift with the weight of another before he was wrapped in large arms and pulled close, kept warm.
"We're going to do this together, Blaise."