I only went there, you must understand, because the Soldier tasked me to. Our demolitions man claimed that, in his most recent drunken stupor, he had lobbed a few high-powered explosives towards the other base during ceasefire-technically, this is against the rules, although I can't imagine that ruthless shrew of an Administrator letting herself be upset by it. She usually applauds the spread of violence. Nonetheless, it would be best for us to check, the two of them insisted, best for her to hear from us first if anyone was hurt out of battle, because then we might seem at least a bit responsible. And so, alone and sparsely armed, I was sent in the wee hours of the morning into the enemy base to search for injuries; my comrades offered nothing by way of a plan other than: "It'd be easy for you, being all...sneaky and French." They were right, of course. It was child's play.

Most of the sights I saw...well, I cannot say any of them were particularly normal, but there is very little that perturbs me. The RED Soldier mutters orders in his sleep. Their Engineer's metal hand moves and jitters even while the rest of him slumbers. The Medic seemed to consistently work late, very late-and I found the Heavy asleep in a chair in the German's office. Demo had a bottle in his hand and filled the room with snores. My own opposite number was unsurprisingly impossible to find. I am, since that night, continually amazed that the Scout ever has energy on the field, as he seems to dedicate entire nights to rubbing his cock and moaning a million different names-not all of them were female, which is interesting. The Pyro simply sat. Whether or not the being behind the mask was asleep was impossible to tell. I moved on.

No one seemed injured, so far-there was just the bushman left to visit, and then I could crawl back to the base and back into my bed. I made sure I was totally silent when I slipped into the camper van; I did not desire to wake the sleeping jarman. I have experienced...very negative consequences when discovered by him on the battlefield. That particular night, I was not in the mood for a face full of piss or a stomach full of knife. I hid, and I was silent, and I should not have been noticed, and yet-

"Hey there, Spook."

I froze. I felt like my heart had come to hide between my teeth and my stomach was rioting in protest. Merde, merde, I did not want to deal with his antics, and I could not for the life of me figure out how he knew I was there. He kept speaking-his voice, and this was confusing, was a sort of slow, warm, rumble. He was relaxed. He seemed...content?

"How was your day, lil' buddy? Eh? Really? Aces!"

Was there someone else in the van? I scanned the place frantically for someone else, another Spy, another anyone, but I saw no one. It couldn't be...was someone there better at hiding than I was? No, impossible.

"Me? Ah, I'm okay, mostly. Well, alright, to be honest, I'm not doing so great. M'leg got shot up today, and after hours, too-I know! Can you believe that? Gotta tell your team to shape up, mate..."

The Sniper was injured. I knew that the Sniper was injured and I knew that I could go, but for some reason I found myself entirely unable to. He had to be talking to a BLU, and the only Spy on the BLU team was yours truly, and I was not replying to the marksman. Who was he talking to? I had to know. Call it professional curiosity, if you will-I simply had to. I crept closer.

In his arms he was cradling...something. A soft, tiny little something that he frequently nuzzled and gave soft, chaste, kisses to. He murmured to it softly, his eyes still shut tight.

"No worries, darling, I'll live. Survived worse than this, even without all this fancy medical hocus-pocus they got up here. I'm not gonna leave you, I promise..."

He hugged the thing tightly to his face, and that's when I first saw the little blue limbs and began to feel the horror of recognition. Dear God, it couldn't be-no-yes-it was. He raised it up, arms pointed straight at the ceiling, and opened his eyes (he was awake, shit, he was awake, this wasn't him talking in his sleep, he was awake) with a disturbingly serene little smile. I clung to one wall of the van in shock and disgust as he continued to coo to my tiny, simplified likeness-the Itsy Bitsy Spyer.

"Long as you stay with me, it's all blue skies, y'hear? And this-" he tried to move his left leg and I noticed the bloodstains on the sheets, the awkward way the limb was sticking out, and the pain that was evident on the Sniper's leg when he attempted to shift it- "Argh, Christ! This, this'll just be here for a day or two. 'Til whenever the rest of those wankers notice I'm out of commission. Probably right before the next battle, 'cause I won't show up at Solly's buggered ol' meeting. And anyway, 'til then, it's just you and me!" His cheery, toothy smile started to fade a little, and he let the little voodoo doll fall onto his chest. He didn't drop his hands, though, and seemed to be reaching for something. "Just you and me..." The arms fell to his side and he looked at the small cloth figure with something between anguish and disgust. "Just me and a pathetic ragdoll impersonation of you, Spy." Peeved, he swatted the thing to the floor and rolled onto his side, facing away from it. I tried to leave, then, but almost immediately he turned back towards the plush little me and gazed at it with longing; his leg had gotten too stiff for him to get up out of bed and go grab it. "Piss...Ah, well. Good night, Spook."

He blew the thing a kiss before drifting off to slumber. I bolted out of the van, and didn't slow, not for an instant. What the hell had that been? The bushman-he didn't actually have feelings for me, did he? Good lord, what a mess. All those times he has pinned me on the field, exerted physical dominance, covered me with his bodily fluids, all of those seemed dirty, now; he had sullied the pure art of death with his disgusting, his sexual, his-his-ugh.

I did not, I do not pity him. We reported his leg to the Administrator; let the RED team deal with their wounded colleague. And while they're at it, let them burn that accursed little doll. I am sick of it. If he tries anything during the fighting today, I plan to threaten him. Let the rest of his team, of my team learn about his little secret, then we'll see how forward he is, eh?

I only hope he does not make those ridiculous puppy dog eyes that I saw him sporting in the van that day. If he does, I believe I shall have to borrow some of Demo's equipment during the next ceasefire...