Evening.

It came down silently upon the beachfront, swooping down upon the gulf and transforming the sunbleached boardwalk into a living carpet of golden light. It turned the usually brilliant blue sky into a gradient of oranges and pinks, tinging the Australian sky with the first few touches of a night that was still far off. The gentle sound of the waves against the sunstained beach mingled with the peaceful hubbub of people coming and going that was apart of a Saturday night, along with the distinctly mechanical sounds of a tram pulling out of a station.

An almost archetypical evening at Glenelg beach.

Bruce Flinders was not usually a man of reflection. He was a man that was constantly living in the present, preoccupied by all the little details and flickers of life that passed by him. A man who never planned beyond his next shot and a man who never looked past beyond his last one.

But even a creature of habit such as himself would break that pattern once in awhile.

And that's why he was here, back in Australia. Back in the land of deadly animals and equally deadly men. He had two weeks off for Christmas, two weeks off from the madness that was his job and life at Team Fortress Industries and his first and only impulse had been to come here. Back to his hometown of Adelaide and point of origin.

Last time he had been in Australia, his mind had been too preoccupied by other things (namely missing Australium and robots) to just step back and relax for once. Even now, even on this trip, chances were he'd spend most of it out in the bush, hunting after whatever Australian beast had foolishly decided to cross his path.

But for this moment, for just this once, his mind wasn't full of details. For once, he wasn't worrying about who he was hunting next or where he was meant to go.

Because for once, he didn't have anywhere to be. He had all the time in the world, it seemed just to stand here, on Glenelg beach and just watch the sea below as it slowly lapped at the piers and the sun-stained boats.

All the time in the world to stand there, alone.

He sighed.

"Beautiful isn't it?"

A French tinted voice sounded next to him, making the Sniper turn from the sea before him and to the voice's source beside him.

There was a moment of silence as the two looked at each other, one in surprise and the other with a small, enigmatic smile.

Oh god.

The Sniper's blood ran cold as soon as he saw the man beside him, dressed in that immaculate blue suit of his and that balaclava that he so stubbornly refused to take off. Nerves and muscles trained by over six years of working with that very same man screamed at him to take off, to run off like a jackrabbit and not to look back.

He was on holiday for god's sake. He was here to get away from the very company that the Frenchman stood representative of.

But yet, here he was in the flesh, standing idly next to him almost as if he belonged there.

He looked back to the sea.

Why, out of the entire menagerie that was Team Fortress Industries, had the Spy chosen him to stalk over the winter months? Right now, he just wanted to head back home, back to his parents and spend the next two weeks off just to be alone, out in the outback in the cool summer nights chasing after prey. Two whole weeks where he could forget about all the madness and insanity he was forced through the other 50 weeks of the year.

"'Spose it is." The Sniper shrugged. "I ain't one of ya fancy artist types. Speakin' of them types," He sharply turned to the Spy, accusation hinting at his voice. "Shouldn't you be with one of 'em right now? Off in some...I don't know...misunderstood female artist's bedroom as some sort of…" He trailed off as his mind failed to put the image currently in his head into words that would be polite to use in public.

"Really?" The man replied, his tone suddenly offended, but in a way that carried notes of amusement to it. "Moi? In some...deprived madman's lair? What do you take me for? You know I like my men to be more intelligent than those fools." He let out a short dry laugh.

Men.

Bruce let out a worried sigh.

It wasn't that he didn't like the man. Far from it. It was just he'd never considered their…relationship to be something...legitimate. Just a summer fancy fueled by alcohol and sweat and one too many months away from civilization. A twisted secret that would never see the true light of day.

The Australian was suddenly shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of the music. The duo turned around to see that behind them, a quartet had started up and was playing some popular song that bruce only knew snippets of from the Scout's radio. A handful of people had begun to gather as they played, consisting mainly of young couples that had been taking an evening stroll in the yellow glow that preceded the sunset.

In the centre of the gathering, the gathering had parted to form an impromptu stage in which a couple danced.

"Look at them," The smile returned to the Spy's face. "Have you ever done that?"

"Wot, danced here?" The Sniper shrugged. "Nah. never 'ad a sheila ta dance with. 'Sides, gettin' too old for that."

"Oh , don't say that!" The Spy took ahold of his hand and tried to pull him towards the slowly gathering crowd and the music. "I'm sure–"

"Spy." Bruce intoned, pulling his hand out of the other man's grasp. The Frenchman froze and looked up at the Sniper, his previous smile frozen on his balaclava clad features as slowly, he dropped his own hand.

"Bruce? What…" He trailed off, unable to finish his question.

"I'm sorry, but…" He sighed. "Maybe you should go."

"Go? But–" The Spy moved closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, only to slide it down so that he had ahold of the Australian's bicep. "–I only just got here. I came all the way to Australia for you." He moved his head closer to the Sniper's, so that they were almost touching.

The Sniper froze, unsure of what to say next. Obviously what he had seen as a fleeting fantasy meant much more to the other man than it had to him.

An almost ironic fact.

"Spy," He repeated, this time with less accusation and roughness in his voice. "Stop that. Please."

"Oh?" The Spy leaned back a little, but still kept a hand on the australian's arm. "Why? Is there..."

"Bloody hell...look, why are ya doing this?"

"Why?" The Spy removed his hand completely, a nonplussed expression on his face. "What do you mean why?"

"Look, don't take this the wrong way but..." He muttered a curse to himself. "...I never thought this was a thing. Not a real one anyways. Just a..."

"Just a novelty?" All expression on the spy's faded away, leaving only a dull, almost hurt expression in his dark blue eyes.

It was an expression that looked out of place on the Frenchman's face. It didn't look like it belonged, like seeing sympathy on the face of a predator.

"Look, I'm sorry if ya wanted more but..."

"But what?" He asked, his voice carrying the smallest spark of hope. "Look," He offered Bruce a black gloved hand. "If you want, it could be something. Something that isn't a joke. Something that's real."

Bruce looked down at the hand, his mind torn. Was this man really offering him a chance to be in something serious? Like he thought that perhaps they could make it work on more than just a primitive level?

He wanted to take the hand, for a chance to be in something real, for a chance to be in something that he could actually be proud of.

But at the same time...

"Bloody 'ell mate, you know I can't."

"Why not?" The Spy let the hand drop, falling limp and lifeless to his side.

"That's why." He pointed to the crowd before them, to the lovers dancing in time with the music without a care in the world.

"Is...is there someone there?" The Spy squinted, confused. "I don't see..."

"Oh for the love of–not the people ya wankah! Society!" He suddenly snapped, a part of him fed up with trying to lead the spy to the conclusion.

"Society?" The Spy asked, raising an eyebrow through his mask and giving him an incredulous look.

"I'm a bloody professional spook, I can't afford ta be buggers with some bastard I don't even know the name of!"

And then, silence. Silent but for the sounds of music and laughter that had all but faded into the background by now.

The Sniper took off his sunglasses and looked down properly at the Spy, his vision no longer darkened by their polarized lenses.

The man's face was expressionless, a poker face perfected over decades of being in the espionage business. But while that medium showed no inflection, his eyes told another story.

Dark blue, flecked with spots of cerulean and layered with so many emotions and feelings that it almost made Bruce dizzy just looking into them. A complex web of emotions so deep and complex the Australian had no hope of untangling them.

"You can't afford to?" His voice was flat and almost monotonic, with the only emphasis being on the word 'afford'.

"I'm a professional. Ya know I can't…"

"You can't afford to." The Spy repeated, his words this time tinged with a muted anger and disbelief. "Why not? Is it because of them?" He made a sweeping gesture with his arm towards the gathering before them. "Because of what they think?"

"Why...why is that such a surprise?"

"Because I thought you didn't care!" He yelled, exasperated. "You don't care about people think of you! You don't care about them! That's why…" His voice dropped in volume and took on a slightly more hurt tone. "That's why I loved you. You don't care about what people think. You just go ahead and did your own thing. You never worry about anything. I knew I never had to worry about you, because despite everything, you were there, up in your little tower day in and day out even though the other team knew you were there. You live in a campervan and kill people for a job without a single care about what people think of you. But why...why is it that the one time I need you not to care, the one time it matters, this suddenly matters?"

Another silence, this time a stunned one.

Bruce didn't know what to say. Whatever composure the Spy had had was thrown go the wind, a feeling of betrayal dominating his eyes as he looked up at the Australian with eyes that seemed to be on the very verge of tearing up.

"I could've been with anyone. And yet I chose you because I thought you would stay with me when it's all over. But here you are, saying you can't because of a society that never cared about you in the first place!"

"Mate, its not about 'stralia. It's about people in general. People don't like this." He indicated the two of them with a finger as he spoke. "It ain't here, it's everywhere. Hell, you know what happened to Medic, theirs not ours."

"Well…"

"They nearly killed him spook. Killed him over this."

"He lived in a time where they tried to kill every non-German in the country Bruce. I don't think that–"

"That's beside the point. The point is, this isn't safe. And bloody hell, m'lifes already dangerous enough as it is without some bible wielding idiot like Sol tryin' ta kill me over who the fuck I like."

Another silence.

"look, I ain't sayin' I don't like you, it's just..." He sighed. "If ya want ta continue this back at base, I'm ok, but here? It's just..."

Still nothing.

The silence was starting to play havoc on the Sniper's nerves. Why wasn't the Spy responding? He always had a snarky comeback or suave response to anything he ever said. The man was like a verbal punching bag – you could say all you want to him but he never changed. He always had a response, no matter how childish or lame it was.

But here?

Nothing.

It unnerved him. What had be done? Had he extinguished any trace of their friendship with a few wrong words?

"I'm...I'm sor–"

"No no, it's fine." The Spy finally responded, his composure back to an ice cold calmness. "I understand." His voice was back to its previous monotone, bearing not a single hint of emotion or regret.

"You...you do?"

"I understand." He repeated. letting out a slow sigh, he walked forwards, towards the crowd. "I just hoped for something...more for once. Something that wasn't just superficial. Something that wasn't a facade. Something that had more meaning. I...guess this wasn't the right place to look after all.' he stepped away from the other man, pulling out a familiar silver cigarette case as he did so.

"Au Revoir Bruce, I hope the remainder of your holiday suits you better than I ever could."

The Sniper stared after him as he walked into the crowd, disappearing among the young adults.

Letting out a sigh, he leaned back against the handrail that looked over the beach. He felt terrible. For the first time in his life, someone had given him a chance for a serious relationship, a chance for something more meaningful than a summer fling and he'd turned it away because of what?

Because he was scared?

Scared of what people would say about him?

Goddamn it, Spy was right. Why the hell was he caring so much about what someone thought of him now, when he has been perfectly fine with ignoring them before?

And he'd just brushed the man off like...like he was nothing when he'd taken it out of his own time off, taken it out of the two weeks they got off a year to travel halfway across the globe just to see him.

Only for him to turn him away because he was scared.

Frankly, he was a little surprised that the enigmatic frenchman had taken out time to see what he himself had only envisioned as a fleeting romance and...

Oh god, he said he'd loved him. He'd said that and he meant it. He'd said he'd loved because of something, because of something, something that wasn't about his body or anything like that.

And in a way, he couldn't help but feel some sort of attraction in return.

Crossing his arms, he turned his attention to the centre of the group before him. It had grown quite a bit since its formation, but the clearing had still remained, with a young couple dancing across it. The tune was a light, instrumental one that the marksman didn't recognise, one that befitted the incoming evening well.

The couple danced, each one without a single worry or care, and the Sniper couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. They didn't have to worry at all whether their relationship was right and correct in the eyes of society.

So why did he have to worry?

Why did he?

He wanted to be there, in the arms of another person. He wanted to be there without worry in the world, with someone who actually cared about him.

He wanted to be there. With the Spy.

He wanted to find the Spy, to talk to him and makes amends, perhaps to see if that offer of his was still valid. But the man had faded into the wind like he had never even–

He was there.

Through the crowds, Bruce could just see the blue suited form of the Spy as he stood on the very innermost edge, watching the dancers.

He was just there, only a handful of steps away from him.

He was right there.

Before he could even think about a plan of attack, he was already moving towards him. Another moment and he was there, in the crowds within an arm's reach of him.

Another moment and he was by his side.

Swallowing, he paused. Just what was he going to say? That he was sorry? That he was wrong?

"Spy…" He murmured, low enough so that hopefully only the man beside him could hear. "That you?"

"Perhaps. But what does it matter you?"

"Look, I'm...sorry."

"For what? For a society that does not abide by our ideals?"

"For brushing you off like that."

"But what does it matter? Apologies won't change how the world thinks."

"Wasn't finished mate. Also sorry for reacting like that." He sighed. "You're right. It ain't like me ta care. Guess ya kinda surprised me an'...an' I guess this isn't really something I thought about. Just kinda…"

"Don't." The Spy interrupted, his tone soft and understanding. "I understand." It was his turn to sigh. "I shouldn't of surprised you like that. Shouldn't of assumed you felt the same way I did."

"But I..." Bruce trailed off, before beginning his sentence anew. "You could...do you still want to make this real?" He asked, moving his hand closer to the Spy's so that they were almost touching – an invitation for the Frenchman to take it.

A pause. And for that single second, the Sniper panicked. Was this a bad idea? Had he done something wrong? Had he–

"My name is Augustus." He said, taking Bruce's hand in his own gloved one.

There was another silence, but for the first time that day, it carried no notes of confusion or hostility.

Only relief.

The relief of having someone to hold, the relief of being with someone who was there instead filled the relative silence.

Beside him, Augustus shifted closer, Close enough so that their shoulders were touching. There was a solace to be found in the moment, a comfort that the Sniper hadn't felt in a long time.

The comfort of just being with someone, of not being alone in the crowd of lovers that surrounded them.

And then, the music finally came to an end.

The dancers, both smiling broadly vacated the impromptu stage, leaving it open for another pair to take.

And it was then, Bruce finally turned to the man beside him.

"Augustus?"

"Hmmm?"

"You still want to dance?"

The Frenchman's expression suddenly dropped into one of pure surprise before quickly recovering.

"I thought you said you were too old?" He replied with a small smile.

"Bloody hell, who cares?" He grinned and moved forwards. "Buggered if I do anymore."

The Frenchman's smile grew into a grin as he followed the Australian to the centre of the clearing.

and then slowly, the music started again. Murmurs went through the crowd as they wondered how drunk the two men before them were or how much money they had been bet.

But neither of them cared.

The Spy put a hand on the sniper's shoulder in response to the hand the Australian had almost subconsciously put on the small of the Frenchman's back. They set off, Sniper leading with a simple, half-remembered dance picked up from some long-forgotten school formal.

The golden glow of the evening hadn't faded yet, casting everything in an almost liquid yellow light. It glinted off the sea, turning the blue of Augustus' suit into a dark, almost black shade and warmed the skin visible to the light.

Bruce wasn't the most graceful of people. Far from it. But yet, Augustus managed to keep in time with every little fall and misstep he made, almost as if it was all apart of the dance. But as the song progressed, the accompanying dance grew smoother and more complex.

Had you asked Sniper what he thought would happen twenty years from now when he was fifteen, he would've never imagined this. Not even six years ago, when he'd first met his teammates and subsequently, the Spy would he have predicted this.

And why would he? Even now, even right now as willing co-instigator of the events that lead to this event, he was having trouble wrapping his head around it. Here he was, a world class mercenary working for the most powerful organisation in the world, dancing along Glenelg beachfront, a cold war era Spy who was a man at least ten years his senior in his arms as they danced like they were twenty-something year olds newlyweds.

It all seemed too ridiculous to believe.

But it was reality. Bruce knew that. It was too real to be a dream – from the orange-yellow glow that saturated everything and the salted scent of the sea beside them everything to the every minute twitch in his dance partner's posture and his aroma of expensive cigarette smoke that mingled with that faintly herb-like cologne he always wore, every detail was laid out before him like a masterpiece in an art gallery, every detail laid out before him to indulge himself in.

Step, step and then a turn. The dance and the song was nearing the end and both partners knew it. All it would take was another lap of the floor and then they would stop.

Neither one of them wanted to stop.

It was a shame too – Bruce was finally getting into the swing of the dance after too many years of sitting down hunched over a sniper rifle (a career choice that hadn't fared too well on his back) and…

He was torn from his thoughts to the man before him as suddenly, the Frenchman fell.

Acting purely on instinct, he leant over and grabbed the upper part of the man's back with his remaining arm, catching and steadying him before he hit the concrete boardwalk below.

Heart and mind fluttering from the the sudden panic of nearly dropping the Spy, the Sniper looked down into the face and eyes of his dance partner, hoping to offer some sort of explanation or apology. He felt his face heat and redden, not at his arms around the other man's abdomen (honestly, it was hard to feel awkward about that), but rather at the sudden realisation that he'd been the one to trip and make a mistake, not the other man.

But instead of being met with annoyance or irritation, he was met with that sly grin that the Frenchman was so fond of.

"You don't know how to dance, do you?"

"Bloody hell Aug'," He muttered, an embarrassed grin taking over his face. "Told ya I was getting old."

"For the record," He replied, putting a gloved hand on the Sniper's neck. "You aren't too bad. And," he added, pulling himself closer so that he was inches away Australian's face. "Not that old either."

And then, closing the final few centimetres between them, their faces made contact as he pulled Bruce into a kiss.

It was short and sweet (an abrupt change from the Frenchman's usual voluptuous behaviour), and while it seemed innocent enough, it stood for much more than just that. It was a moment of acceptance from Bruce as he let himself be drawn into the gesture and let himself enjoy it and a moment of trust as for the first time in a long while, Augustus let another man man in and capture his own emotions.

And then, the moment ended and they withdrew, pulling each other upright as they did so.

A moment of silence followed as the crowd looked on in disgust and horror at the two men before them.

"Bloody hell…" Bruce muttered, slowly turning his gaze from the man beside him to the crowd behind them. Muttering had suddenly taken ahold of the gathering like a wildfire, increasing in volume and hostility until they looked ready to mob the duo.

"Don't worry," Augustus assured, taking his hand off Bruce's neck and slipping it into his jacket pocket. "What kind of Spy would I be if I didn't have a plan?" He let out a sly grin as he pulled out a dull grey sphere. "Close your eyes Bruce."

The Sniper opened his mouth to question the Spy's actions, only to quickly shut it again as the Frenchman hurled the grey orb onto the pavement.

It exploded with a loud bang and a flash and suddenly, the Sniper was suddenly jerked forwards, through the temporarily blinded and coughing crowd.

Finally, they came to a halt and Bruce dared open his eyes. The Spy had taken him away from the beachside and into the suburbs, the streets beside them lined with white houses, their front lawns full of dried and yellowed grass and jacaranda trees, their branches loaded with pale purple flowers and dark green leaves.

"Bloody hell…" The Sniper muttered again, bent over double as he tried to catch his breath. "Was that really necessary?"

"Well, unless you wanted to fight a dozen crazed Australians, it really was." He responded, smoothing out his dark blue suit before walking over to the sniper. "And besides, one crazed Australian is quite enough for me thank you." He added grinning as he gave Bruce's brown hair a playful ruffle.

Returning Augustus' grin, Bruce straightened and readjusted his slouch hat.

"So then, what now?" The Spy asked, taking the Sniper's hand in his own. "You know this area the best, what would you suggest?"

"Well then…'ow does gelato sound?" Bruce asked, his broad grin turning into a smile as he lead Augustus back to beachfront and tram stop.

"Why not?"

...so, this is a thing now. Oh god, this is terrible isn't it? swallows

so...uh...feedback is always appreciated.