Everyone keeps looking at Renard. As the sole BLU Spy in the waiting room, he'd expected it, but still, it annoys him. The others–three snipers and two spies–are all perched on hard plastic chairs on the other side of the room, as far away from him as they can get. He studies them.
William, his team's sniper, is lounging in the corner, head tilted back, arms crossed and fingers tapping idly on his stomach. He'd quietly shaken hands with the others, then slumped down in his chair. He hasn't said a word since he came in.
Nathaniel, his sniper, is sitting stiffly–back straight and hands folded–in the chair closest to the door. Renard can't tell with the sunglasses, but he would bet good money that the man's eyes are on him.
Seated next to him is Antoine, engaged in quiet, boring conversation with the other RED spy. It's hard to come up with something to talk about between two special agents under non-disclosure agreements, but they're managing, comparing small differences between their bases, the other RED sniper chiming in now and then.
In his mind, he compares the two marksmen. For starters, Nathaniel's sunglasses had a yellowish tint, while the other sniper's were more orange. They both had the same basic uniform, though the other sniper had an extra watch along with a woven leather wristband, and his shirt was more unbuttoned than his sniper's. They wore slightly different pants. Nathaniel was an inch or two shorter, but not as tan, probably due to the months he spent inside during his imprisonment. And then, of course, there was the scar.
See, it is good for something, he felt like gloating. Nathaniel's hand had twitched towards his face when he met his counterpart, and Spy had had to bite back a grin as he shook the RED spy's hand.
The spies . . . it was easy to tell the difference between the old spy and himself; Antoine's face was squarer, and he had faint lines around his mouth and bags under his eyes that never quite went away. And their team colors, of course. But this new spy unnerved him. They were the same height. They had the same nose. They both had grey-blue eyes, though the other spy's seemed warmer. Weaker, he told himself. Just like Antoine. He cares too much.
It was true. The new spy cared about the sniper, he could tell. The way they gravitated toward each other, the way they exchanged looks and nods. He hadn't expected their reaction to meeting him, though. When he had walked into the room, their heads had shot up, and they looked hopeful–cautiously, painfully hopeful–before their expressions slid into practiced calm and underhanded animosity. The sniper's knee had subtly pressed against the spy's in a gesture of comfort. Did he have a counterpart too? Another BLU spy, one they seemed to know well?
. . . .
Nathaniel sat rigid in his chair, his eyes the only part of him moving. Hidden by his glasses, he nervously studied the other men in the room.
The BLU sniper is slumped in the corner, he'd merely nodded as he'd shaken Nathaniel's hand, then taken his seat without a word. To his left is the RED ppy, from Nathaniel's own team. He's making polite small talk with the other RED Spy; even with matching uniforms, it's easy to tell them apart. The new spy has a narrower face with blue-grey eyes, and he carries much less warmth with him then Nathaniel's own spy does. However, he seems to soften a bit when it comes to the other sniper, even Nathaniel can tell that much.
The other sniper . . . doesn't unnerve him like he thought he would. The BLU sniper is older, and while he'd be a good body double, they're easy to tell apart up close. But the other RED sniper could be his twin–albeit years older. They have the same the loping stride, stick out ears, gangly limbs, and big hands. There are enough small differences, however, to balance out the similarities; the other sniper has faint wrinkles, for starters, from age and squinting in the sun. He has two watches, for some odd reason, along with a leather wristband. His clothes seem looser, more causal, even though they wear the same uniform. Perhaps it's the way the other man wears them; his collar unbuttoned, something Nath now sees as a vulnerability, thanks the the BLU spy.
The BLU spy. Another difference. Though the other sniper does have a scar on his face, it's significantly smaller and less disfiguring than his own.
His eyes flick the the opposite corner of the room, and he has to hold back a shudder as he catches the BLU spy's gaze. There's no way the other man can see through his sunglasses, but he feels exposed, nonetheless. He looked down at his feet, wondering if there's another BLU spy somewhere. There hadn't been one when they arrived, just the two REDs, but you never knew with spies.