Aaaaaaand here we go. Again. After a while it seems!

I apologize, I've been busy with work, with some personal stuff, with life in general, really. Summer, yay.

But here we go again! I hope you're going to like it :)

It took a while for Sniper to finally respawn. It always did. In the meantime, he'd felt like floating in the infinite darkness, able to browse his deepest, long forgotten memories. He always adored the ones from his youth, when he still lived in the Outback. Remembering the smell of the oh so precious rain, the sun which scorched the land with it's beaming. The silence of the night, when only stars accompanied him, sometimes interrupted by howling of predators far away from him. Sniper loved those memories the most. They filled him with peace, with serenity.

That changed when the respawn spit him out. Memories from the past came to haunt him, again and again he felt the Spy's balisong biting into his guts, tearing his skin, making him bleed out… He wished the feeling would stop, and even though he knew it would, eventually, it never soothed the bushman. All the lovely memories of past were replaced by horrors of this eccentric war.

Dying for such a long period of time always left him uncomfortable. He had to battle his demons. He was used to dying, he was dying everyday again and again. Knife thrusted into his spine. Quick. Being blown out by a missile. Quick. Hell, even the bullets from Heavy's Sasha were death quick enough. But slowly bleeding out, that was terrifying. Feeling the constant, blistering pain, the awareness of inevitable. The sensation of your life slowly running away. At that time, he'd always knew he wouldn't make it. He never did.

He needed something to do. Something to make him forget.

That was easy enough, he thought, as long as we're at war.

He grabbed his rifle, which was leaning with brute gracefulness over the wall right next to the respawn, and his kukri. The knife went to it's sheet, rifle over the Sniper's shoulder as he proceeded to step outside the respawn into the battlefield. He had to find some place where he could easily hide. He would love someplace high. Despite the fact he'd been shoved over the railing countless times and met his death tens of meters below him, it didn't seem to stop the RED from seeking such places. There were a few, sadly all of them were well-known to be the sharpshooters' hidings. Not that it would make any difference in the rage of fight. He was going to be killed sooner or later, it didn't matter if it was by another Sniper's hand or Demoman's sticky bombs. He just wished it would be quick.

After a few quick deaths, as he wished, and two encounters with enemy Pyro, he finally settled himself in a rusty wooden lookout where he could observe nearly the whole battlefield. Sniper scratched his unshaved jaw as he seated himself on one of the crates that were laying there chaotically. He would swear he could still feel the scorching hot flames licking his face. He had to thank the Scout from putting him out of the misery in the middle of his pelting. Enemy kill isn't something they were allowed to do, but Scout did it anyway. Maybe because Sniper would listen to his constant blabbering, or because of the pure fact nobody wanted to be burned alive. He wished Scout would've shot his head off during the second encounter too. Unfortunately, nobody was around at that time. Although Sniper was sure that everbody must've heard him scream.

Opening one of the crates, Sniper revealed his secret stash. Well, for him and the other Sniper it wasn't a secret. Just a pack of regual, not so tasty coffee, small glass kettle and some bottles of clean, drinkable water. Next to them, a considerably huge amount of empty glass jars were piled up, surely filling up the other crates too. Sniper wasn't fond of them, then again, he didn't have to go do the job somewhere else and miss some nice, clean headshots.

Sniper stirred on the crate until he felt at least somehow comfortable and positioned his rifle. After what seemed to be a couple of minutes, he was all ready to go. He leaned to his scope and began to do what he was the best at.

„Yo, Spy, we needya to- OH! Oh my- What the fuck?!"

Scout almost kissed the pavement how fastly he stopped in his tracks. He stared at Spy, mixed feelings flashing right from his eyes. Spy stared at him.

The BLU frenchman was sitting on the floor, leaning over wall, with his gloved hands slowly caressing his chest which was now bare. His suit was lying next to him, crumpled on the ground, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down. He seemed focused as his hands carefully studied his smooth, slightly hairy chest.

Spy had to think about what happened back. How the RED thrusted his kukri into Spy's chest. And the pain. Unbearable. He was lucky Sniper hit his heart. He died quickly enough. And managed to kill his enemy too, which was good. Good enough. But now, he was suprised. Suprised and curious. He could still feel the preasure of the blade, nearly imperceptible. But it was there and as slight as it may feel, it was irritating.

But now, Spy was doing his best not to knife Scout in the head. He stopped in his skin-tracking and started to dress up hastily. He didn't started to speak, after all, he doesn't owe anyone an explanation.

„Man," BLU Scout started, quite unsure of what to say „were you touching yourself?" After a while and no question answered, Scout understood it in his way.

„Man, that's, like, gross! Ya can't justa sit here and touch yourself! What the hell, are ya gay or smthing?" Scout started rambling. Spy's eye twitched slightly, annoyed by his Bostonian colleague.

„I was not touching myself, you idiot," replied Spy, gritting his teeth with the feeling he could bite the young boy's throat off.

„I would reccommend you to mind your own business and maybe try to be useful on the field for once," added then, the words biting into Scout's ego like saw biting into dried wood. „And I would like to remind you, 'ow unfortunate it could be to tell any of our… friends, about this incident," Spy allowed himself a sly smile, „I 'ope we understand each other well."

He stared at the Scout with icy eyes, the clutching cold stare enhanced by his lightly blue colored iris. Like a snow panther immobilizing it's prey with the blizzard stare, nearing crouched to attack, Scout found himself unable to move and just… keep looking into Spy's eyes. He'd never seem to notice how blue his eyes were. And beautiful. In a non-gay way of course, Scout warned himself. He wasn't no fag. Like, never ever. He liked girls. Women. Yes, that's it.

And still, he hadn't moved when Spy leaned over him, his eyes still looking into his, the panthers hunting in their blizzard blue snow, his sight predatory and ready to attack.

„Yea," Scout finally found himself able to talk, and almost immediately licked his lips, now dry and sticky from the sudden nervosity that embraced his lungs and stomach. His throat constricted. „yeah. I-I understand man, no need t' be all mysterious n' shit." Scout took a few steps back and then turned on his heels, speeding away. He hadn't told Spy about the turret they needed to sap, but nevermind. He didn't want to be near that weird frenchie anymore.

Spy was looking at Scout as he runned away. His eyes slowly let go of the icyness that was in them and started to look much warmer. Spy calmed himself down, he was sure that now, Scout wouldn't dare to say a word. And he was satisfied.

He lowered his head and gave a hard stare to his chest. One hand stroke it gently and for a while, eased the nagging feeling. He hoped that it would stop, eventually.

"Oh ya bloody-!"

"Quoi? I came 'ere to, well, get revenge. It was pretty nasty, what you did to me, now wasn't it?"

"Piss off, frenchie!"

"But I wouldn't like to just sit 'ere and start talking like some super villain until, well, someone comes and ruins my masterplan. Now, stay still, it's 'ard to concentrate when you're wiggling."

"I said PISS OFF! Get your bloody arse off of me!"

"Now, I can't seem to find any anal leakage that would contain my blood, so please, just shut up, for 'eaven's sake, and let me think. It seems I still haven't figure out what to do with your miserable 'uman being."

BLU Spy was sitting on top of RED Sniper, fiddling with his balisong. His eyes, slightly closed in hard thinking, were scaning the room carefully. Why would the bushman hide in the same place he get killed about an hour ago? Spy didn't mind, really, he was more of wondering if anyone would be so… naïve. Dumb. Utterly idiotic.

His gloved hand reached up and touched the covered neck. Well, he didn't have his tie now. That was shame and without it, he looked… well, smart-casual. That was unpleasant. Uncomfortable. Nearly as uncomfortable as the bushman's back. But how else was he supposed to tie his legs up? It was logical. Ties are meant to tie people up. But now he was sitting here, smart-casual, on top of his nemesis, who was most likely drooling over the floor, and couldn't think of any way to repay that sly snake. Moreover, his chest hurt. It was bearable, but it hurt and it was annoying. He started to think about his revenge again, but only stream of silly, bad-behaved thoughts started to flow through his head.

Sniper shifted beneath him again, which caused the Spy's stream of thoughts crack. Then it shattered, making the BLU groan in frustration.

"Oh mon Dieu," groaned Spy and flipped his balisong few more times. "I told you to be quiet!" barked the BLU suddenly and thrusted his knife into Sniper's thigh.

The pain came so suddenly and stealthily, Sniper haven't recognized it at all at first. The only thing he registered was the sound as something bluntly thumped and rocked into his leg. Then it came, the scorchingly cold lightnings spread into his thigh, eating through his flesh like it was merely a cloud in the sky. He yelled, pain resonating in his voice, and shivers ran through his whole body, settling in his shoulders and spine, occasionaly making him tremble again and again. After this, Sniper went silent. If he was going to be stabbed everytime he spoke, it wasn't worth it.

As he lied there on the floor, his left arm twisted underneath his belly, and his right spread where Spy could easily see it, he noticed his rifle. A beaut she was, laying there on the wooden flooring. Maybe if he moved very slowly, Spy wouldn't notice.

Then again, he had a knife in his leg and it didn't take much to twist it. And he never was fond of twisting knives.

So he had just one chance to do this. He stared at the rifle and wondered if he really could reach it. Maybe if he tried to shake the spook off him, he could eventualy grab it. On the other side, he wavered. The pulsing pain in his thigh was agonizing enough and he didn't want to experience a new level of torment.

He was scared.

As he realized that shameful truth, something moved in him. He is an assassin, dammit. He doesn't need fear on his side. He is going to die sooner or later, so what's the point in hesitating?

Sniper braced his free hand on the floor and quickly yanked his torso with his legs in an attempt to shake Spy off him. The jammed knife stratched over his bone, making him almost lose his consciousness. The pain was excruciating, his nerves turning against him. For a moment, he couldn't see a damn thing, but he knew something must've happened. He felt somehow… lighter. As his vision started getting normal again, he heard a familiar, and very upset, stream of french words. He didn't have to understand french to know Spy wasn't complimenting his acrobatic movements. As fast as he possibly could, he braced with his arms against the hard, wooden flooring and proceeded to crawl towards his rifle. Sniper's left arm was numb and he couldn't feel almost nothing. That was mainly the reason why the RED collided with the floor after few pull ups. He reached for the rifle with his unharmed arm, tips of his fingers brushing against the lacquered wood, sticking to the handle for a second because of his sweaty palms.

Sniper moved his body in an shameful attempt of a bounce and grabbed the handle of his rifle firmly.

At the same time, small, gloved hand fell on his shoulder.

"This is going to 'urt, bushman," growled voice behind him, too close for his liking. Sniper felt the other hand grabbing handle of the frenchman's balisong. Oh, hell no.

"Both o' us, mate," agreed Sniper with nervous grin.

The RED grabbed his rifle, slinging it over his shoulder, meeting the handle with something soft. He heard cracking noise and then, finally, a satisfying painful yelp. The hands released him immediately, probably trying to ease the pain in Spy's broken nose.

Sniper twisted himself on his back, meeting with Spy's hateful gaze.

"Ahm goang to ghetzyou fo 'his, booshmahn!" Hissed Spy, now talking in much indistinct accent than ever before, holding desperately onto his nose.

The Sniper just smiled, genuinely, and raised his beloved rifle.

"Some other time, eh mate?" He pleaded and shot off Spy's head.

The headless body crumpled to the floor a few seconds later and after few minutes, it started to softly dematerialize. Sniper laid on the floor the whole time. That was second time in one day he made a fool of the BLU and killed him more than once. He was going to suffer, he was more than sure of that.

After the tie and the balisong faded away as softly as the Spy's body did, the RED immediately started to take care of his wound. A simple strangulation and a bandage application had to suffice. Or at least until Medic's ass would show up there.

The match has ended as suddenly as ever, announcing the RED's victory.

The heat of the neverending sunshine lazily fade away as the day neared to it's end. It captured the upcoming night in a passionate embrace, enlightening the world underneath in warmth, crimson and scarlet.

Beneath the shyly showing stars, leaning over the walls of the BLU base, stood Spy, the cigarette in his mouth, rolling from one corner to another and back. He was lost in his thoughts, his palm gently brushing over his torso. The phantom pain hadn't stopped all day and though he was starting to get used to it, it bothered him still. As slight as it might be, it was still there, in the background, setting back his attempts to think, to work, to enjoy this one cigarette under the early night sky. His fingernails dug into the fabric of his suit and slightly scratched his chest.

„Somethin' troublin' you, Spy?"

The frenchman jerked, nearly jumping to air. He was so lost in his mind, so concentrated on the dull pain, he hadn't even heard the footsteps.

Turning to his teammate, he grimaced and elegantly slid his hand down the chest and let it fall beside his body. Inhaling the smoke, he thought about the possibility to share his worry to Engineer. As he exhaled, Spy decided not to.

„I am just experiencing some discomfort which, I believe, will vanish with ze sleep," Spy waved his hand. „Nothing to trouble your genious mind with," he added and put off the cigarette over the wall.

„Y'know you can tell me if something happens, right Spy?" Engineer let his voice waver with worry just so to let Spy know he was there. They were friends, after all. And being honest with himself, Engineer worried a bit too much for his liking, a bit too much than he should. And it was hard not to offer his everything to help his friend.

„Yes, Engineer, I know zhat, but thank you anyway for reminding me," the masked BLU answered absently and proceeded to return to the building.

„Yeah, sure… Anyway, wanna grab some beer n' wine and hang out for a while? I've got some thoughts I wanted to share with ya-"

„My apologies, but we will 'ave to postpone zhis to another day. I 'ave still some things that call for my attention."

„Oh- well, alright, whatever suits you, fella."

They parted in silence, Engineer heading to his room and Spy waiting, weighing his options of what to do next. The silence embraced his figure standing in the narrow hallway and hushed his footsteps as he headed to the infirmary, his hand slowly brushing over his chest.

Well.

I hope that the next part won't take as long as this one took. I will do my best, really!

Cheers.