'Stop fiddling with it, Sniper!'
The marksman jumped and looked guiltily around at the Medic. That morning he'd given the Sniper's injuries a go with an experimental version of his medi-gun and then. He'd also found some dressing that was laced with silver in some way that the Australian didn't really understand. Apparently it would help reduce the infection, or at least, stop him from getting another one.
The Sniper had tried his best to forget about the slash across his face, but it was hard to. It stung and prickled even after he'd taken painkillers, and there was also the knowledge that he 'd likely have a huge ugly scar disfiguring his face for the rest of his life. He couldn't help wondering what his mother would think of it, and felt glad for once that she was half a world away and no longer on speaking terms with him.
However the cut was going to turn out, he'd find out soon. Despite all the Medic's fussing, the medi-gun had helped speed up the healing process. Sure, it hadn't healed up it in seconds like they both would have liked it to, but an injury that might have otherwise taken weeks to heal would only need a couple more days before he could take the bandages off.
Until then he'd have to try and ignore the itchiness and concentrate on the task at hand. It was just a few minutes until they were let back out on to the battlefield again, and he had a Spy to find.
Unfortunately for the Sniper, it was the BLU who found him first. He'd been eager to see out how his mark had come out, and went after the Sniper straight away. The sharpshooter was understandably on edge though, and his team mates kept finding excuses to check up on him. That even included the RED Spy, which surprised the BLU. He'd always assumed his counterpart cared as little about his fellow REDs as he did about his own colleagues.
He supposed the Sniper's team was paying attention to him because of the novelty of a lasting injury. It couldn't be because they cared about him; he'd been there less than a week. And he was a sniper.
As he silently watched the Scout drop by for the third time in fifteen minutes, the Spy found himself wondering if he'd done more damage then he'd intended to. The trick to leaving scars here was to find a way of preventing the target from receiving medical aid for an hour or two, to let the injury 'set in', as it were. The longer it was left, the better the chances of a scar remaining. So all the gauze on the Sniper's face raised the question of how long it had taken him to get to the Medic. Long enough that not only had the medi-gun been unable to remove the injury without scarring, but also long enough for it to struggle to heal it at all? Most snipers seemed to be stubborn loner types, so perhaps the idiot had decided to try and see to his injuries himself.
Eventually the Sniper seemed to become fed-up of all the extra attention he was receiving and slipped away to a more secluded spot. That suited the Spy perfectly. He followed carefully, on constant lookout for any other REDs. The last thing he wanted right now was for someone to start spychecking the area.
As the Sniper settled down into his new roost, the Spy took the time to observe the man. He found it educational to watch the other mercenaries work. It helped him learn all their little tricks and quirks. Watching his own team mates allowed him to learn things, such as which of them were likely to provide him with the best cover for slipping behind enemy lines, which routes they over-used and how long they were likely to survive each round.
Spying on the enemy was even more rewarding. As well as the smug satisfaction of it all, it also allowed him to learn their behaviour, habits and patterns, which came in useful when he wanted to disguise as one of them or to wait until the moment they'd be least expecting a backstab.
Leaning invisibly against the door frame and watching the Sniper set to work gave him a good chance to learn a thing or two about one of his new enemies. The man muttered to from time to time in his rough, low voice. Mostly it was advice to himself and a running commentary of events, such as, 'A little to the left there. Little bit more. Right. That's got us set.' and 'Look at him go. Got to learn his pattern or I'm never gonna get that headshot.'
He also noticed that the Sniper had become a lot warier of his surroundings than he'd been before. Even the most distant noises coming from behind him would make him whip his head up and peer around. The Spy found it amusing just how many times he stared right through him without having a clue his enemy was lurking there.
He decided to allow the Sniper to get five successful shots before he made a move. It was easy to tell the difference between a hit and a miss. When a shot went wide the Sniper would shake his head in disapointment and quietly berate himself. If he came close to hitting a target or only winged them, he'd either make a low growling sound through clenched teeth or tell himself to get his act together. When the Sniper did get someone though, his face would split into a satisfied smile and he'd laugh softly or else mutter some petty insult about the man he'd just killed.
The Spy found it interesting to note that the marksman seemed to put himself down for every failure, but would pin every successful shot on some mistake the enemy had made, rather on his own skill. Either this Sniper's successes were down to luck and he knew it, or he just had a low opinion of himself. Considering the short time it took him to take down five BLUs, the Frenchman thought it was probably the latter.
As soon as the Sniper had taken out his latest target (who must have been the Pyro, based off the sharpshooter saying, 'Now what did you go standing still for, you mumbling idiot?'), the Spy pounced.
In two long strides he was across the room and uncloaked, raking his knife across his target's back. He could have just gone in for an easy backstab and then pulled off the bandages once the man was dead, but he might not have time for that before the body was taken by respawn. Besides, this was the first time the Sniper had seen the Spy since he'd gained a new decoration for his face, and his reaction was sure to be priceless.
It was.
As the knife sliced along his back he let out a surprisingly high-pitched yelp and sprung forward on reflex. That got him briefly out of range but also nearly sent him flying out of the old window he'd been sniping through. He had to grab hold of the weathered frame to stop from defenestrating himself.
The Spy couldn't resist stepping forward and slashing his blade across the man's exposed back again. The Sniper swore and kicked out at his attacker, managing to catch the Spy in the gut. The BLU stumbled backwards, giving the Sniper time to pull himself back into the room. One of his knees was bleeding. It looked as though there must have been some glass left in the bottom of the window.
The Sniper was already injured as he dragged his kukri out of its sheath, where as the Spy had merely received a kick that would leave some bruising at worst.
'You know, you talk to yourself a lot,' the Spy informed the Australian as he flipped his rose-patterned balisong open and closed against the back of his hand. The menacing little swishes and clicks of the blade were at odds with the casual tone of his voice.
The Sniper glowered at him from behind white gauze and yellow-tinted glasses. 'You know it's rude to spy on other people, right?'
The BLU laughed. 'I'm afraid it is in the job description, you know.'
As soon as he stopped speaking, the Sniper lunged for him, aiming to stab him in the gut. The movement must have stretched the cuts across the marksman's back because he hissed with pain as he went in for the attack. The Spy swung out of the way and quick as a viper, lashed out with his own weapon. He tore through the Sniper's clothes and sliced a line across his ribs but the blade snagged on the man's vest on the way past, almost causing the Spy to lose it.
By the time it was firmly back in the Frenhcman's palm, the Sniper had rounded on him, the tip of his kukri aimed straight at his heart. The Spy almost had his arm clean cut off by that blade during his first fight with the Sniper; he didn't much fancy the idea of an encounter with the pointy end of it.
The Spy ducked to the side and underneath the attack, getting inside the Sniper's guard in a similar fashion to the day before. He used this vantage point to stab the Australian in the lower back. He avoided the main arteries, spine and kidneys. He didn't want the Sniper dying on him just yet.
He let go of the blade as the Sniper tried to slam the butt of his kukri into the his ribs and retreated out of range of the longer knife. The Sniper made to go after him but he was in too much pain to put any effort into the attack. It was easy for the Spy to get in close enough to twist the weapon out of his opponent's hand and send it clattering away.
The Sniper stumbled backwards, his hat askew and his shoulders hunched. His face was nearly as white as the bandages and pinched from pain. The clothes on his back were stuck to him from the blood, and there were splatters of it all over the floor, marking were he'd been. He stared blearily at the Spy for a moment before asking between ragged breaths, 'Where's. That knife. Of yours. Gone?'
If he thought both of them losing their melee weapons would even things up, he was mistaken. The Sniper looked ready to drop and the Spy still had his Ambassador safely tucked away. He could have used it at any point during the fight, but where would have been the fun in that?
The Spy smiled at him. 'Why, you're holding on to it for me, Sniper.'
The sharpshooter blinked at him, the words struggling to permeate the haze that was stopping him from thinking straight. The Spy had to point to his side before he thought to look down. For a moment the Sniper couldn't see what he meant, until he caught sight of something in the corner of his eye. He twisted around and saw to his surprise that there was a knife sunk into the right side of his lower back. All the managed in reply to the sight was a dull 'oh.'
It was surreal, seeing it there but barely being able to feel it. Adrenaline was strange like that. He could feel the horrible stinging pain of the cuts across his upper back, knee and ribs, but there was the balisong, still sticking out of him.
Slowly, feeling as though the air around him had turned to treacle, he reached to pull out the knife with his right hand. The Spy made a disapproving tutting noise.
'Now, now, Sniper, I wouldn't go doing that if I were you, you'll only bleed out faster.'
The Australian ignored his advice. He knew that right now death was the best thing for him. That still registered in his mind as a very odd thing to think, even though he knew he could rely on respawn to bring him back. The BLU Spy obviously wasn't going to allow him to leave this room alive. With the amount of pain he was in, the quicker he could manage to die, the better.
The second he touched one of the twin handles and the blade inside him shifted, he could feel it. It was a white-hot blast of agony that short-fired every other sense he possessed. The Sniper clenched his teeth together as tightly as he could but a moan of pain still escaped as he dragged out the knife.
It occurred to him then that he was now the one with the weapon.
The Spy became aware of that too, and though it didn't particularly worry him, he still decided to solve the problem straight away. Before the Sniper even had a chance to look up at him, he took a step forward and knocked the marksman down with a push kick to the diaphragm. Thanks to the Australian's tall and lanky build he had a high centre of gravity that made him easy to take down.
The butterfly knife went skittering out of the Sniper's grip as he flung out his arms to catch himself. A second later though, his upper body was slammed to the floor as the Spy stomped on his chest.
It had all happened so fast, and the Sniper was already so disorientated from pain and blood loss that he couldn't pull his thoughts together enough to work out how to fight back. He just lay there beneath the Spy's black Italian leather shoe as he tried to remember how to breathe and who he was.
His hat had been knocked off his head as he fell and his glasses were crooked across his face. One eye still saw the world through tinted yellow glass while the other saw it in all its drab glory.
Above him the masked BLU was grinning like a cat who'd just cornered a particularly fat little mouse. Then a look of confusion flickered across his face.
The Spy was a man who prided himself on (among many other things) his ability to memorise tiny details and piece clues together. Right now there was a niggly little feeling at the back of his mind telling him that there was something odd about this picture. There was the wounded and beaten RED mercenary beneath his boot, as he should be. There were the bandages across the previous injuries he himself had caused. There were those awful aviators, half knocked of the man's face, revealing one amber-brown eye. One amber-brown eye.
The Spy's mind made the connection. He'd made a note of the Sniper's eye colour while he'd been unconscious the day before. Dark brown. They'd definitely been dark brown. So how could...
The Sniper flinched as the Spy leant down and plucked the glasses off his face. The BLU, now properly blue, not just a kind of washed out green, peered down at him curiously.
'How freakish,' he murmured, more to himself than his enemy. 'I thought that kind of thing only happened in animals.'
If the Sniper hadn't lost too much blood already, it would have rushed to his face. There were three reasons why he always wore his tinted aviators, and the man he hated most on the entire planet at that moment had just discovered one of them.
'It's just heterochromia,' he managed to splutter, despite the suffocating weight pressed into his chest and how hard it was now to string thoughts together.
It was bad enough being a skinny, socially inept Australian without a moustache, let alone being one with mismatched eye colours. He'd hardly taken off his sunglasses since his father had given them to him; it saved a lot of time and energy having to deal with the gawking and rude questions.
If anything else was said by either of them after that, the Sniper never knew. He was also never truly certain what his cause of death must have been that time around. He report card at the end of the day simply put it down to the BLU Spy, which was obvious enough. He just wasn't sure if he'd simply died from blood loss, or if the Frenchman had been so put-off by the sight of his oddly coloured eyes that he'd killed him rather than look at them any more.
In fact, his first guess was right. Despite his proclamation that the Sniper's eyes were 'freakish', he found them fascinating, and continued to stare into them long after their light had faded.
He was so distracted by this new titbit of information he'd gathered on the RED Sniper that he only realised he hadn't had a look under the bandages as the Marksman's body began to fade away. His foot went through what was now empty air and hit the floor with a splash that speckled his shoes and trousers with blood.
'Damn it! Why does respawn always do that?' he asked angrily of the empty room. As usual, nothing but bloodstains remained.
The Sniper was supposed to end up getting thrown out the window but somehow that didn't happen. I'll just have to get that in somewhere else as we can't have him missing out on a good defenestration, now can we?
I've seen a couple of people depict the Sniper with complete heterochromia recently. I don't know about them but I got the idea from Queendeedee on Tumblr. The way everyone but Demoman (and possibly Pyro) had grey/blue eyes really bothered me so I spent some time wondering what eye colour I would have picked for them. When it came to Sniper I got stuck between dark brown and almost yellow/amber brown. Then I saw Queendeedee's drawing of a headcanon for the Sniper where he had complete heterochromia; one eye yellow-brown, the other a darker brown. And well that decided it.
I'd always avoided creating characters with heterochromia in the past because I've just seen so many bad mary sue types with like one blue and one red eye. But now this Sniper's got it, and so does the main character in the original story I'm working on. I just better make sure they don't have many other mary sue style tendencies then. (If the Sniper turns out to be a half angel, half demon vampire with pink hair that changes shade depending on his mood, shoot me.)
On an unrelated note in an already over-long AN, I'm sorry that this chapter took longer than any of the others have. I haven't had much spare time recently. The only time I can really set aside for it is late at night/early hours of the morning. (It's half two in the morning now, oops.)
That's also why the writing and editing quality isn't all that great in this fic; I'm nearly always dog-tired when I'm working on it. My brain can recognise that things are a bit sloppy, but I tend to be too tired to concentrate well enough to fix things properly. I 'm having a lot of fun writing it all the same, and that's what really matters, right?
