This is a long overdue sequel to Mother Fox, and it maintains the same continuity as all fanfics after it.


Waves of ivory swam before Spy's eyes, broken only by his hand that so tightly gripped the sheet. It wasn't for the need of warmth; sweat was plastered on his bare skin. His breath whispered out of his nostrils as he let go to reach to the bedside table for his cigarette case. As his hand landed on the wooden surface, he half-turned his head back to his bedfellow to inquire, "Would you desire one, ma cher?"

She gave a tired chuckle. "That would be great. Thank you."

Flipping the case open, he removed two cigarettes before offering one to her. The orange-gold flame produced a high contrast to the light blues, whites, and grays of the room. The hum of traffic from below was plain to hear through the closed window. A horn loudly blared for a moment. This time, they had made sure the blinds were closed. With a click, the flame was extinguished. Spy placed the lighter back on bedside table before taking a generous puff.

Turning back to her, he gave a slight smile as a cloud of smoke gusted out of her slightly parted lips. "See something you like?" She asked in a sultry voice. He made no verbal response for a moment, instead taking his cigarette out of his mouth as he looked upon her more fully, her raven hair trailing out on the pillow below, her dark blue eyes bearing a sharp contrast to her light skin, and her free hand trailing out from beneath the sheet, palm up, as if ready to grasp something, or someone.

The next moment, Spy picked up that hand, and placed his lips to the center of the palm. She groaned in response, her fingers curling inward for a moment before splaying out once more. Holding his cigarette away from himself, Spy slid forward until he was over her. She stared back at him with a slight frown on her face.

She closed her eyes as he placed his hand to her forehead, brushing away a few unruly strands of hair that had tumbled free. Glistening with sweat, her hair resembled more of a short mane without her headband, the unruly accessory lying at the foot of the bed. A chuckle built up in his throat at the chastity of the gesture. It was as if they were young lovers without a single care in the world.

It died just as soon in his throat, and he returned her frown before kissing her forehead gently. To show emotion in his profession was highly dangerous as was, but after his rival had photographed them together in such an intimate position…She sighed at his affectionate attention, touching his shoulder softly. He tensed at the touch for the moment as he was yanked out of his thoughts, his eyes popping open as he removed his lips from her skin.

She in turn, removed her hand, whispering, "Domi, it's just me. You're safe here."

It was too much. Her using his name made the sex more gratifying, but this was another matter. Their love-making had only just ended, and he had been distraught. Burying his head in her shoulder, and taking care not to drop the low-burning cigarette onto the sheets, he whimpered, "Hannah…"

Hannah responded by kissing his temple in comfort. Spy wished for a moment that his mask was off, so that he could truly feel her lips, but that was out of the question. It had been pure luck that he had kept his identity hidden from his rival when the photos were taken. He doubted an attack on her would occur; civilians were uninvolved. The company the BLU Spy worked for wouldn't protect him from the legal consequences of killing her. As for him, however, the BLU Spy could have abused him however much he pleased with the knowledge of his identity, as the RED Spy could not say the same for his counterpart. Thankfully, it hadn't happened, but that had been due to the fact that she didn't mind his wearing his mask in the bedroom. He had grown so used to it over the years that it had become a second skin.

The whimper was the precursor to silent tears that leaked out of his closed eyes, sliding down his face to drench her shoulder. "My apologies," he murmured in shame at their appearance, his pride taking a hard blow. Even in front of her, he felt so dishonored.

"You're fine," she murmured calmly, "you're fine." Spy couldn't shake his head in that position, but his lack of response told more than enough. She knew better than to simply tell. Her fingers reappeared, but more slowly this time, cupping the back of his nape to stroke it once before dropping her hand down at a careful pace. He shuddered as she touched her fingers to one of quite a few deep scars on his back. Though he had been involved with other women, none of them were ever allowed to touch them, no one, that was, save her. Even so, the touch seemed so foreign to him, and for good reason.

Spy raised his head a few inches off of her shoulder to ask, "You know must be done?"

Hannah gave a deep sigh. "Yes, I do." As he moved to rise off of her, she placed her hand on his cheek. Gripping her wrist, he looked back down at her, tears still glistening at the corners of his eyes. "Be careful," she implored, stroking the side of his face for a moment.

He chuckled, turning his head to the side to place his cigarette back in his mouth. In a much stronger voice, he replied flirtatiously, "Ma petit chou fleur, it's been over twenty years. I think you need not worry about me."