Three days. To be honest, Laurent was surprised he'd managed to stay sane through it, staring mournfully at the ceiling of the camper van. The place wasn't nearly as much of a dump as he'd imagined it to be on his first time seeing it, with the interior being surprisingly neat and tidy. Part of him mused that perhaps Bailey was just a smidge OCD, always making sure nothing was out of place. For the whole of today so far, however, his only company had been Sydney. The blue cattle dog was moping about distractedly, laying on the young Spy's legs with a look of great displeasure. He still wasn't quite sure what to make of the dog, but at least it was better than staying down here alone while gunfire and explosions reigned outside.
He wondered if any of his team even noticed he was missing. It hadn't been long since the Spy before him had gotten killed, further proof that angering a Medic was a terrible idea, but surely he wasn't so easy to forget. Then there was what Bailey had said about the RED Spy, Tristan, disappearing for sometimes weeks at a time, supposedly even during times of combat like this.
A frown crossed his face and he lifted a gloveless hand to pull off his balaclava, revealing a mess of short cropped, platinum blond hair beneath, before lightly tracing the scar that cut across his cheek and the bridge of his nose, a sour reminder of a meeting that felt a lifetime ago. It almost felt like he'd swallowed a cup of ice. He'd let his guard down then, too, hadn't he?
For a moment, he froze, blinking as Sydney lifted his head to look toward the door with his ears perked up. He made no sound of greeting and his tail did not wag, and in Laurent's mind, that was as good as saying that whoever was there was not supposed to be. Someone from BLU team, perhaps?
No. No, they wouldn't have been able to get this close to the Sniper's loft without him seeing them and ending the threat rather immediately. He went perfectly quiet and still, listening intently. There were no footsteps... and just as quickly as he had been alerted, Sydney yawned and plunked his head back on his paws. Laurent's heart was racing in his chest, no matter how hard he tried to calm himself. Who had come so close? It couldn't have been Bailey. The battle was still raging outside and he was well aware the Sniper would not come down from his loft until he was certain all the RED control points were safe.
It was a thought that honestly caused his gut to clench. He certainly didn't dislike Bailey. He was surprisingly gentle and a pretty friendly guy, but the thought of RED up there gaining an upper hand because he was presently unable to really do anything but sit and wait for his wounds to heal without the assistance of a Medic... it was downright unacceptable. He should be out there gathering intelligence, fighting the good fight... but no, he was stuck here!
Just when he thought his mood couldn't get any more sour, Sydney all at once leapt off the bed with a happy bark, rushing back and forth by the door. It was only then that he realized that the sounds of combat had finally tapered off and all that was left was the sound of the excited dog pawing at the door as his master headed "home," and the unmistakable sound of the door unlocking.
Bailey looked haggard when he stepped in... or at least more than usual. His lined face was tired, and a clear 5 o'clock shadow was present, indicating just how long he had been sitting up in his tower with no company other than himself. When he looked toward Laurent, he blinked a few times, pulling off his sunglasses to secure them on the brim of his hat. "...first time I've seen you without that damn mask." At first, Laurent hadn't the foggiest what he was talking about until it struck him. He had removed his balaclava before the Sniper had come back down and completely forgotten to put it back on. Just as he was about to scramble to pull it back onto his head, Bailey crossed the small enclosure in two long strides and put a gloved hand on his shoulder. "Easy, mate. I'm not gonna go tellin' th'whole world what you look like. It'd out me as well as you, and I don't think either of us need that kind of attention."
Though startled, Laurent obligingly lowered the balaclava back to his lap, a wry smile crossing his face. "I am surprised you haven't mentioned my age, to be honest. I know I cannot look very old."
"Age don't mean much when you're stabbin' folks, yeah?" Bailey inquired, though Laurent was aware it was more statement than anything else. "B'sides, we've got Cat, an' she ain't much older than eighteen. Though... I'd reckon you're not much older than she is. Don't got th'look of an older man, save that scar there. Maybe, what... early 20s?" The young Spy nodded a little as Sydney finally started to settle down, plopping down onto his haunches with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. It was such a comical sight that he almost didn't notice that Bailey was giving him a rather appraising look. "How old would you wager a guess on me?"
Startled, the young man lifted his head to look at Bailey just as the Sniper took the time to remove his slouch, looking right back with a totally blank expression. He was an interesting sight, tall and lean with a sort of lithe grace about him. His face was lined, tired, and weather-worn, though he didn't necessarily appear to be old. Not that old, at least, despite the flecks of gray that peppered his dark hair, pulled back at the nape of his neck to keep the length – just past his shoulders – out of the way. Long face, an aquiline nose, a strong jaw...
"Thirty-five." He pursed his lips, thoughtful, then nodded. "Yes. Definitely around thirty-five."
Bailey grinned a bit. "Close. M'thirty-eight. 'bout t'be thirty-nine soon." He pulled up his chair, sinking into it with a groan that turned into a relieved sigh. "Some folks say I'm getting' too old for this job. I say I'm only too old for it when I'm good an' dead." He gave a light smile, completely disregarding any questions Laurent may have had, giving the younger man no time to respond. "So. Who's 'ungry?"
A good battle was always good for the senses. It made one sharper, more alert. In the case of a Spy, it kept the adrenaline going, reminding them that the slightest mistake could mean death. In Tristan's case, it reminded him of one very simple fact: he had followed the blood trail from that willowy young BLU Spy and discovered he had not headed back to the BLU base.
He was a practical man, of course. He has his suspicions. But he wasn't going to jump to conclusions. Besides, there were considerably more important things to worry about right now. He shifted, stretching the muscles in his sides as a bare back rested against his ribcage. Smiling, he reached down to brush the pads of his long fingers against a slim, well formed hip. "I thought you were asleep, ma bichette. Between ze battle and ze bedroom, I would have thought you exhausted."
The small, slim Scout beside him stretched with a pleasant sound as he spoke, giving him a rather fussy look out of the corner of her eye. "Hmph. Where were you at, anyway? I thought you were gonna come straight back here once the shootin' stopped."
"I had some things to take care of. You know how it is, chaton. I am, after all, a Spy." He turned onto his side, dark hair falling into his eyes with the movement. Cat was looking up at him with one of those sweet smiles on her round little face. What a cute little vision she was. She didn't even look eighteen. "You look as though something is bothering you. Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"
The girl blinked at him, then stretched again, hands behind her head. Shamelessly, as she searched for words, Tristan let his eyes drift over her compact frame, every muscle toned and powerful. The way she dressed, no one else could tell. "Bailey, mostly," she replied, turning her face toward him. "He's been kinda distant the past few days. He usually'll drink with Callum in the evenings, but now..."
She trailed off as Tristan reached down, idly toying with her hair. So he wasn't the only one who'd noticed it. It wasn't just a matter of what was going on, anymore, but a genuine matter of something very serious going down in their little personal corner of hell. Perhaps what he'd suspected had been correct. It would bear further investigation. He didn't necessarily need to report back, he mused, but this would at least give him something to do between confrontations with BLU Team. He smiled a bit as Cat shifted and turned her head, giving him a better angle to trail the pads of callused fingers down her smooth jawline, smiling when she shivered.
"Your hands are cold!" she protested, pushing at his arm. "And if you keep that up you're gonna start tickling me and we'll wake everybody up."
Tristan chuckled, leaning down to kiss her forehead lightly. "No one is there to wake up, ma bichette. It is still midday. We managed to hold off BLU quite well, I think. At least we have that much to consider."
Cat made an obliging noise, though he had a feeling she wasn't entirely convinced. Of course, he was, but he knew there were levels here and he had to be very careful not to tip the scale too early. Settling beside her again, he propped himself up on his elbow. "Perhaps Bailey is just lonely. He needs a nice woman. Of course, I believe all the nice women in our camp are rather preoccupied with dashing Spies and... and, well, with Heavies."
"Nothing nice to say about Artyom?" questioned the petite Scout, looking up at her companion with a rather wry expression. "That somehow doesn't surprise me."
Distracted from his thoughts of what Bailey may've been up to in that camper van of his, Tristan blinked a couple of times before wrinkling his nose, reaching for his disguise kit next to the makeshift bed to fetch a cigarette. "He is grossly obese. His "Ideshenka" is trying to get him to lose weight, but... well, I do not believe we could properly call him a Heavy if he suddenly became lightweight." Several moments passed as he lit the cigarette, taking a long draw. "What do you think became of ze BLU Spy?"
That caused a menacing chuckle to come out of the small girl, which caused Tristan to grin broadly. She was capable of being such a malicious little thing when she wanted to be; there was no doubt of that. "Well, with any luck, you put enough holes in 'im that he didn't get too far. Maybe he fell into the old Well and died. Guess that wouldn't be too good a thing, though... that'd mean we wouldn't have any drinkin' water."
"Mm. True, true. I do not believe he has died at all." When Cat looked at him rather sideways, Tristan took another long draw from his cigarette, freeing one hand to lightly run over her shoulder and down her long, slim arm. "I have my reasons, chaton. Any Spy good enough to make it zis far is clearly troublesome. I was rather surprised by how tenacious he was, despite how young he appeared. Rather a good challenge, non?"
Cat pursed her lips, huffing a bit as she squirmed under his attentions. "If you say so. Yer really the only Spy I trust. It ain't easy to trust a Spy, y'know."
Chuckling, Tristan kissed her shoulder, letting his lips linger before trailing further down. "It could not be because I am so dashingly handsome and polite, could it, ma bichette?" When the girl shivered, he chuckled, nuzzling where her neck met her shoulder. "We have a while before BLU regroups. Let us make ze most of it."
"A headache again, I see." Bailey almost cringed at how dry Idelia's voice sounded, her head bent low over Callum's leg as she extracted a bullet. The Demoman gave a cheery wave in the general direction of the Sniper when he walked in, though Bailey suspected he was too drunk to notice that his leg had been reduced to so much meat byproduct. "Really, you should let me take a much... closer look. I am certain I could find ze source of ze pain."
That time, he did cringe. Idelia was something of a medical prodigy, having achieved her PhD at the fresh young age of 21, but there was a very fine line between genius and insanity, and he was pretty sure the young woman had crossed that line several years ago, before even joining this team. Not that she wasn't nice to look at. She had thick, dark hair that hung past her shoulders in ringlets and spirals, falling into her face and obscuring her when she was acting shy. Her eyes were smoky gray, and it was no surprise at all why Artyom had immediately taken to her sweet, gentle nature.
Anyone who knew how she could behave toward BLU, however, knew very well that her sweet, gentle nature was not quite as sweet or as gentle as anyone claimed, and the only person she was truly genuine with was Artyom. Her "Bärchen." Everyone else was pretty much wasted material to her, only good for shooting at the other team or occasionally providing an outlet for her twisted fascination with injury and pain.
Clearing his throat, he moved toward the medicine cabinet to retrieve the bottle of small asprin capsules, lifting his chin slightly. "That won't be necessary, Idelia. Thanks." She shrugged as he rummaged, doing his best not to look at her or notice the precise care she was taking with extracting the bullets from Callum's leg with painful slowness. "Where's Artyom at?"
Idelia smiled a little bit, and for once, he could tell it was a genuine expression on her pretty face. "He is actually resting for a bit. He did a fantastic job on ze field today... all but single-handedly kept ze BLU Heavy off ze Control Point, but he was injured. Nothing serious... I vas able to patch him up fairly well with little to no trouble." She pulled on a fresh pair of sterilized gloves, reaching for the case holding her surgical suture supplies. "He vill sleep for a little while, zen likely wake up wanting a sandvich as alvays."
There was a hint of fondness in her voice that almost caught Bailey off-guard. With her behavior, he sometimes forgot that she was as vicious as an angry kangaroo. She truly did love Artyom, no matter how odd it must have seemed to everyone else for such a slender, attractive woman to be so deeply in love with a man quite easily several times her size. "Didn't get a good look m'self. They were stayin' outta range of me. Prob'ly didn't wanna have their 'eads turned t'so much mush after what I did t'their last Spy."
"Mm, ja," Idelia agreed absently. "Zough... I did not see zeir Spy anywhere nearby zis time. Normally ze Spies tend to target me first. Take out ze Medic, zey say." She settled into stitching up Callum's leg as the Scotsman hummed some drinking song to himself, completely nonplussed by the situation at hand. "It is rather strange... wouldn't you agree?"
At that, her smoky eyes found Bailey's and locked there, almost as if looking right through him. It wasn't possible that the Medic suspected... was it? No. No, it couldn't be. She was brilliant, a genius, but not smart enough to know that he was being stupid enough to hide the enemy Spy in his camper and nurse him back to health. It was a decision he was still trying to figure out himself. Oh, sure, Laurent's company was nice enough, granted that the Spy hadn't once tried to kill him in their entire time having to room in such close proximity. And there was also the fact that Sydney liked him enough to sleep on his legs at night when Bailey was taking long shifts on watch up in the nest. The look on Idelia's face, however, was searching.
She didn't know. She was just trying to find out. "Didn't say it weren't," replied the Sniper. Maybe the bloke got 'imself killed. Did look pretty young, eh?"
Idelia nodded a little bit. "Not quite as young as Catherine, but yes, quite young. I understand Tristan cornered him. I would say you may be right, considering. Tristan is very, very good at his job. Zough I cannot help but think ze boy may have someone gotten away." A deft knot and a quick snip with a pair of scissors and Callum was patched up. "Zere you are, Callum. Please try not to get scrumpy all over my tables when you stand up."
The Demoman, still mostly oblivious to the conversation being had, gave a sort of drunken salute before climbing to his feet and staggering off toward his room. Bailey, looking at this as the perfect distraction, turned on his heel and started to leave. "Welp... I need t'be gettin' back t'the nest. No tellin' when those BLU mongrels'll start showin' up again, righ'?"
"Not so fast." Again, Bailey cringed, turning to look at Idelia as she observed him quietly. "I am not a foolish woman, Bailey. I do not believe ze BLU Spy has been killed, but I do not believe he made it back to base eizer. Zere was a trail of blood... it led toward your nest. I do not know vat is going on here, but I will give you zis one warning: zey have killed many of our people. If you are hiding him... please do try to be careful."
It was all Bailey could do to keep his cool. Never had he been so completely and utterly pinned by one of his teammates. But Idelia was watching him with a careful, level expression. She wasn't accusing him, after all. As a woman of science, she was simply following her theory through to its logical end. "If that dirty snake came anywhere near my nest, you'd know about it, Iddy," he pointed out, nearly snarling. "I hate Spies. Don't even trust Tristan. Dirty, backstabbin', murderin' Frenchies th'lot." He sniffed indignantly as Idelia smiled and nodded, clearly satisfied with his answer. "I'm gonna head on back t'th' nest. Take care, now. 'ave fun with Arty, whenever y'get 'ome."
He didn't wait around for her to say anything else, using his long legs to carry him quickly from the main base's interior. His heart was pounding in his chest and it felt as though someone had shoved a hot poker through his stomach. That had been far too close for comfort. Idelia was one person he knew would likely be suspicious, but as crazy as she was, she was also trusting of her team. It was very likely she wouldn't do anything beyond questioning him, and clearly she had liked his explanation.
His true concern, he realized as he walked across the dusty expanse between the barn and the loft, was Tristan. He had no way of preventing Tristan from finding anything out, and he could only hope the Spy hadn't noticed the same things Idelia had. Immediately, he picked up his pace, eyes narrowed as he pulled down the brim of his cap. Not a good day. No... not a good day at all.
Laurent was rather comfortable. He was leaning back with pillows propped behind him and his stomach wasn't aching nearly as bad as it could have been. Bailey still insisted on keeping asprin stocked for the purpose, but he was needing it less and less, and starting to appreciate the company of the Sniper more and more. He supposed he should probably feel as though he was betraying his team, but he didn't. A number of them were rather insane, and Winifred - the BLU team Soldier - was absolutely psychotic.
Bailey was something of a calm force in the storm that this whole mess had become. He smiled a little. Funny... Snipers and Spies were mortal enemies, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to hate the tall, lanky Australian who seemed to have far too much heart for his rather heartless profession.
He was just about to settle leaning back again when all at once, Sydney lifted his head from where he was laying across the BLU Spy's legs, baring his fangs as his hackles lifted, ears pressing down against his skull with a growl Laurent was sure he had never heard from the usually amiable and friendly dog before. His stomach clenched and he swallowed against a lump that had formed there, waiting with baited breath for the door to open.
But it never did. It stayed firmly closed, with nothing passing through it... but a note. A single piece of paper folded in half and slid beneath the door. Laurent looked around. It was likely for Bailey, but Sydney had reacted so strangely...
He narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look at it. That was when he noticed the writing on the paper, face up so he could see it clearly. It was in French... To the Sky, it said. Jaw clenched, nerves on edge, Laurent forced himself to sit up completely, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. His stomach burned, protesting the movement at once. Bailey had been trying to keep him exercising enough to avoid losing any real muscle strength, but he was still very tender where the RED Spy had stabbed him.
Using the wall as his guide, he carefully made his way to the door and crouched, with great difficulty, to pick up the note in a shaking hand. By the time he returned to the bed, he was shaking so hard that he could barely see straight. Several deep breaths slowed the shaking, and finally, he unfolded the note to read what was written in neat handwriting within.
It was short, sweet, and to the point... and every word was in French.
I know you are here, the note read. Know that I could end this in minutes. The Sniper would never know. No one would ever find your body. Remember this.
It wouldn't have taken an engineer to figure out that the letter had been written by the RED Spy. The RED Spy knew... knew he was here. He couldn't tell Bailey... having the Sniper confront the Spy about the situation would only put him in danger, and it was a risk Laurent suddenly realized he was not at all willing to take. He would simply have to be on guard, carefully waiting for the time that the other Spy finally came for him. Sydney had stopped growling by this point, hopping back up on the bed to sit dutifully on Laurent's legs, but he was still watching the door carefully.
The dog gave a couple of happy barks a moment later, and immediately, the young Spy shoved the note into the pocket of his suit pants, shoulders tense as the door swung open and Bailey climbed in.
The Sniper looked exhausted, though if anything, the exhaustion seemed to be stemming more from nerves than lack of sleep. He did give that casual, lopsided smile in Laurent's direction when the Spy blinked at him, however, grabbing two mugs and filling them with coffee before grabbing something else Laurent had not expected... the Disguise Kit from his suit jacket. "Y'said you'd wanted a smoke the other day. I don't smoke but I got no problem with it." Settling in the chair beside the cot, he offered both the Disguise Kit and one of the mugs. "'ere."
Blinking a few times out of sheer surprised, the Spy accepted the offered items, taking a few sips of coffee before slipping a cigarette out of the case, making absolutely certain the Sniper could not see the true workings within. He felt himself relax at the first draw of nicotine and leaned back a little bit. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."
"Might've," Bailey responded. "Our Medic cornered me while I was gettin' s'more asprin. She saw yer blood trail. Figured I knew where y'might've got to." When the Spy's eyes widened, Bailey waved him off. "I made sure she didn't suspect. I think she was jes' followin' 'er gut. Woman's bloody brilliant, even if she is a bit touched in the ol' noggin. Feel better?"
The question of his well-being no longer caught Laurent off-guard and he nodded, taking another draw from the cigarette held gracefully between the fore and middle fingers of his left hand. "I find nicotine to have a calming effect. To be honest, I am rather surprised you do not smoke. It would help with nerves, I would imagine... better zan drinking coffee."
Bailey nodded toward his coffee pot. "S'decaff, mate. Keeps me from gettin' jittery, but I still get th'taste. Cigarettes? Never really saw a need. Gotta keep my wits about me, an' can't do that if I've got a smoker's cough, can I?"
A wry smile crossed Laurent's lips. "I do not have smoker's cough."
"Yer also barely old enough t'be smokin' at all." Despite the gentle jibe, Bailey was smiling, eyes bright. It was painful to think that they could become friends like this. As soon as Laurent's injuries were healed, it would be right back to the same old same old again... trying to kill one another for the sake of some stupid, bloody war. "I'm jes' messin' with ya. Whatever keeps ya sane, righ'? There's worse vices. Take Callum, fer instance. I'm amazed the ol' drunk can hit anythin' with those explosives, much as 'e keeps 'imself drownin' in that swill he calls whiskey."
Laurent gave a laugh at that, shaking his head as a smile split the features of his attractive young face. "Our Demoman is something of a drunk as well. Not surprising... I think I would spend most of my time drunk if I was in his profession. Too much to worry about. Though..." He trailed off, looking suddenly very thoughtful. "Perhaps zey are not as drunk as they let on, non? After all, zey must be quite careful or BOOM. Zey blow ze lot of us off ze map."
Bailey couldn't help but laugh at the comment, shaking his head a bit as a grin split his features. Laurent just watched him closely. It wasn't hard to get him to smile, and he didn't mind the view, but he seemed so hesitant. How odd. For a man who lived his life on the wire, never once hesitating to take the shot the moment the time was right, he was much more quiet than he had expected about his own personal life.
Either way, he wasn't really going to question it. Bailey was a smart enough man and pleasant enough company, but that was more than enough for him to deal with. His strategy would be the same. He simply had to get well and get out. Then... then it would be business as usual. In war, there were no such things as friends, and this was no different whatsoever. So he leaned back against the pillows, quietly drawing on his cigarette, and watching as Bailey absently stared at the ceiling.
Finally, though, the Sniper glanced back at him with a thoughtful look on his face. "So. You're a decent enough bloke despite all the sneakin' and backstabbin'. You got yerself a lady back wherever you come from?"
If it were possible to choke on cigarette smoke, Laurent just might've. Pulling the cigarette rapidly away from his lips, he coughed a few times, squinting as he caught his breath to look at the other man in surprise. "I... well... no. No, I do not."
That made Bailey actually look a little startled, and he gave the Spy a good long look as he contemplated his answer. "Really, spooky? No ladies knockin' yer door down at all? 'cordin' t'Tristan, all you Spy types are real good with women." A grin spread across his face, though it was more teasing than anything. "Here I was thinkin' of askin' you fer advice."
"Hmph. I am certainly not ze person you want to ask for advice, mon ami," the Spy scoffed as he finally settled back to his place against the pillows. "I... well. I am not... how do you say zis...? I am not "into" women."
For a moment, Bailey said nothing, processing the information quietly. All at once, though, it seemed to hit him, and his dark eyes widened considerably. "Oh... oh! Yer... oh. Oh, m'sorry, I shouldn't'a pried. I just though'... well, considerin' Tristan... I ain't never actually met someone who wasn't... y'know. No Spies, anyway. Our old Spy, Francois, was all about th' ladies."
Smiling faintly, Laurent chuckled. "No offense taken, believe me. I am not surprised. I suppose it is ze accent. People see ze French as quite esoteric characters. We are often written as such in classic literature."
"Folks from my 'ome country are writtin' as bein' murderers an' convicts, so I guess this makes us even." Both of them shared a laugh at that as Bailey moved to grab his coffee cup and fill it, stretching. "Really didn't think much about it when I asked. I mean... weren't somethin' I'd ever really considered in detail. Jes' knew you were French, and that I'd known Spies - like Francois and Tristan - who had a thing fer girls. Meetin' one who prefers... ah... gentlemen... now that's a bit of a swing fer me."
Laurent couldn't resist a wide grin, crossing his arms over his chest. "You have asked me, mon ami, now I shall ask you. Certainly a rugged man such as yourself must have many conquests."
But Bailey only shook his head, smiling ruefully. "Nah. I'm not real good with girls. Too... awkward, I guess. I spend most of my life alone. You're really th'closest t'human contact I've had since I got here. Not countin' my little brother, anyway. He's moved up in th'world since we got 'ere."
"It must be nice to have family. I have no brothers or sisters, and I have not seen my parents in years. Zey have no interest in finding me, and I've no interest whatsoever in locating them."
Bailey blinked slightly, glancing toward the other man with a puzzled expression. "Y'don't keep in touch with yer folks? Damn. I don't think I could do that... keep apart from 'em, I mean. I've always been close with my mum and dad. Dad don't necessarily approve of my work, but... well, y'know how it is."
The young Spy shrugged slightly, lifting his hand to take another long draw from his cigarette. "It does not bother me. Some people are made to be able to get along well with others. I am not one of zese people."
The two smiled at each other, though the expressions were visibly strained. They were two people who could not be anymore different, but somehow, they were so very much alike. Laurent shifted, keeping his pale eyes on Bailey as if trying to read the Australian's otherwise blank expression. He had always considered himself a mysterious sort, but now... this had utterly changed his view on the world and everything around it.
BLU and RED... just colors. Bailey was as human as he was. They both had killed, had blood on their hands that would never wash away, and yet...
His expression must have changed, because Bailey gave him a long, careful look, folding his hands in his lap. "Somethin' on yer mind?"
"Just... musing again on how alike we are." Bailey frowned, but Laurent pressed on. "I know what you are thinking. We are nothing alike. But... I believe I am referring to this more in how we behave than our methods of murder. You may be close to your family, and I distant from mine, but we both still avoid most physical contact, preferring to avoid others for fear of one of many things. Ze most prominent of which, I am sure, is to avoid losing someone to a pointless war we all know we must fight, no matter how much we despise it."
That caused Bailey to sit back, startled. They had been living in the same close quarters for nearly four days now, and it had really taken everything in ihs power to avoid thinking of Laurent as an equal. The Spy was nothing like him, he reminded himself. Spies were sneaky and even cowardly, doing their work from the shadows, only getting close enough to aquaint you with their dagger before slipping into the dark again.
Sniping was... well, he had been trying to convince himself that his initial argument was correct. It was a very precise art, performed from a distance. He was never personal with his enemies. Where Laurent would often see the dying light of a man's eyes, Bailey rarely saw more than a glimpse of their face in his crosshairs before their head exploded into a fine red mist.
He frowned and looked away briefly, his fists clenching slightly. "Maybe. Maybe you're right. Maybe you and me are a lot more different than I'd like to admit, but so what? I'm still RED. You're still BLU. At th'end of th'day, it's still my job to blow your head off your shoulders."
"But you haven't... have you?"
The two stared at each other for a long moment, Laurent all but daring Bailey to contradict him this time. As much as he didn't want to admit it, the Frenchman was again correct. He had blustered and gone on about the first shot not being a mercy kill, but now... here he was. Laurent was more than capable of independent movement now, even with his injuries, and it wouldn't be too hard to just finish the job. Problem was actually doing it. He still couldn't bring himself to.
On the other hand, Laurent had also refrained from killing him. Perhaps it was a two-way street. He hadn't attempted to kill the Spy because the Spy was making no attempt to come after him. It was like some morbid, bizarre death dance that played with both their minds, waiting for one to slip...
By the time he looked back over at the Spy, the young man had put out his cigarette and was settling onto the bed, eyes half-hooded. Bailey gave a sigh and frowned. "No. I 'aven't. But you 'aven't put a knife in my back either, so I s'pose that makes us pretty even." He paused. Laurent's eyes had closed completely and his chest was falling into a steady rhythm. Startled, Bailey smiled a bit. "...guess you were more tired than y'thought."
He sighed and shook his head a bit, reaching down to pick up a blanket and draw it up to Laurent's shoulders, watching the peaceful expression on the BLU operative's face for a long moment. "...sleep well, Spooky."
