"So Monsieur Mann is calling everyone back?" Antoine leaned back in the leather recliner and ran a hand over his chin. Without his trademark mask, a smattering of stubble was apparent across the lower part of his face.

Niklas sat across from him, tugging impatiently at the tight collar of the shirt antoine had loaned him. It beat wearing the dress, but only barely. The doctor's chest was broader than the shirt allowed.

"Ja. Ze Sniper has been gathering us up. He says ve vill leave for Teufort at ze end of ze week."

For a moment, Antoine didn't reply. He leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath, running his hand through his close-cropped hair.

Niklas watched the former mercenary's movements, the beginnings of a frown creeping across his forehead. He'd thought it was a stroke of tremendous luck, running into Antoine in a city that housed nearly a million people. Even if the man had tried to hit on him.

As far as the doctor could tell, it appeared Antoine had fared better with 'normal' life than the rest of them. He lived in one of the nicer parts of town, in a single-story home that boasted a wrought-iron fence and an indoor pool. In the sitting room, a blond maid had taken antoine's coat and hurried off with orders to find the doctor something to wear. She'd returned within two minutes and presented Niklas with a shirt and a pair of flannel pants that hung several inches above his ankle. But they were warm and dry – and not a dress. That's all that mattered to Niklas just then.

The doctor couldn't see anything that indicated what Antoine did for a living. He was obviously well-off, if the soft leather furniture and expensive-looking paintings on the wall were any indication.

"Who has agreed so far?" Antoine's voice interrupted Niklas's thoughts.

"Vell, Herr Mundy started vith Ivan, and zen-"

"Use titles, monsieur. I never bothered learning your names."

"Ah. Of course." Niklas swallowed. He'd forgotten how much the former Spy's attitude grated on him. And how nervous it made him. "Sniper has found Heavy, Engineer, Soldier, ze Demoman, and, of course, me."

"Meaning Pyro, Scout and myself are all that are left."

"Ja."

"And how has Sniper been finding you?" Antoine crossed his long legs. His top foot bounced in time with the clock ticking on the mantel. "I didn't think you men were the type to keep in touch."

The leather squealed beneath Niklas as he shifted in his seat. "There vere a few leads. Ze rest, I assume, was luck."

"Indeed." Antoine's gaze settled on a spot somewhere above Niklas's head. "Almost as if it was fate, yes?"

Niklas's frown deepened. "I suppose you could say zat."

"I see." Antoine folded his hands in his lap. In the low light, the man's sharp silhouette reminded Niklas of a falcon. "And how did you end up walking down a busy street in a woman's dress? I don't remember that being a habit of yours."

"Herr DeGroo- ze Demoman was arrested." Niklas shrugged. "Zey needed a distraction to get him out."

"And you were that distraction?"

Niklas nodded.

"And they forgot you."

Another nod. "If you would let me use your phone, I can call for a cab-"

"That won't be necessary. I'll arrange transportation."

"Ah. Danke." Niklas eyed the man across from him. "So, Herr..."

"Antoine will do just fine, if we must use names."

"Of course. Herr Antoine. If you don't mind me asking, vat do you do now?" Niklas waved his hand in the air. "You seem quite... settled."

Antoine's dark eyes settled on the doctor once more. Niklas fought the urge to wince. "The world is full of thieves, Docteur. It was not difficult to, ah, adapt the skills I mastered at Teufort to suit my needs."

A slow smile spread across Antoine's face. "After all, modern business is nothing but espionage and always, always staying one step ahead of the competition. If some choose to label a certain business practice 'unethical' or even 'illegal,' then that's no fault of mine."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Herr Antoine." And if Niklas did catch what Antoine was getting at, he wished he hadn't.

"It may be best if you do not." Antoine straightened the tie around his neck. Even at this hour, he was dressed as if he were headed to an important business meeting, or hosting a formal dinner. Niklas had to admit, even if Antoine was aggravating and terrifying at the same time, the man had class.

Abruptly, Antoine stood and dusted the back of his jacket. "If you're ready to leave, I'll escort you to the door. If you can provide the address, my driver will take you back to the others."

"You aren't coming with me?"

There was a moment that Antoine looked genuinely surprised at Niklas's question, but it quickly vanished beneath a mask of cool disdain. "Tell me, Docteur, what you expect to happen when you set foot in that hellhole again. Will it be just like the old days? All blazing glory and last-minute saves?"

Antoine continued before Niklas could reply. "I, for one, have no desire to return to an existence where a bullet or rocket or wall of flames is always around the corner. It had to end sometime, and two years ago was as good a time as any."

A pointed stare from Antoine prompted Niklas to stand and follow the French man to the door. As he walked, the doctor's mind raced – the war between the Mann brothers had been carefully constructed, with each mercenary hand-picked to provide balances and make sure no single man had an unfair advantage. Without a spy class, someone to disarm those god-awful machines the Blu team's engineer constructed, it would be much harder for the Red team to accomplish anything. Impossible, even, if their engineer had made the kinds of advances Conagher had in his two years of downtime. At least the Red team's Pyro would still stay busy – nothing made that lunatic's gas mask eyeholes dance like igniting a previously-invisible foe.

They'd reached the enormous door that led to Antoine's curved driveway. He pulled the door open and fixed Niklas with a cool stare. "Give the others my best."

"Of course, mein freund." Niklas squinted. A black sedan sat at the foot of the stairs in front of him, its engine thrumming softly. Beyond the house, the driveway curved and disappeared into a patch of trees in the distance. An enormous wrought-iron fence surrounded the house on its other three sides. Antoine might not have any desire to head back to Teufort, Niklas thought, but he'd done quite well with making a fortress of his own.

(-)

Conagher stared at what was left of his kitchen and sighed. In less than two days, Doe had turned a clean – if somewhat bare – set of counters and refrigerator into what looked like a warzone. The Texan leaned in to examine something dark and sticky that oozed down one of the cabinets, his face set in a grimace. When he smelled it, he realized it was maple syrup.

They had two days until they were set to leave for Teufort. That meant two more days of squatters in his home. And their numbers were growing. It had been all he could do to convince them to hunt for Niklas without him, but Conagher had a feeling if he was forced to cram himself into Lawrence's van one more time, he was going to murder someone. With his bare hands.

At least getting his kitchen back into working order would give him something else to think about.

Conagher snatched a wash rag from one of the cabinet handles and got to work, scrubbing at the cheap countertops like his life depended on it. He grumbled as he worked, his voice building from a slow, steady stream of disgruntled mutters into something that was as close as Conagher could get to yelling without making the neighbors complain.

He'd managed to scrub the first layer of grime off the countertop when the front doorknob rattled, followed by an insistent knock.

Conagher whispered a curse and slung the rag over his shoulder. Either one of his former coworkers had forgotten something, or his neighbors had heard even more than usual through the apartment's spit-and-tissue walls and come to complain.

Judging by the way the week was going, he assumed it was the latter.

"What do you need?" Conagher yanked the door open, only to freeze at the sight of Niklas in an ill-fitting shirt and pair of flannel pants.

"Guten tag, Herr Conagher."

"The guys found you awfully fast. I don't think they've been gone for more'n an hour." The Texan glanced behind Niklas. "Where are they?"

"Zey didn't find me. I got a ride from Antoine's driver." Niklas stepped around Conagher and headed for the couch – or, more specifically, for the small overnight bag that contained the handful of clothes he'd managed to salvage from his laboratory.

Conagher frowned. That name sounded familiar. "Antoine?"

"Ze Spy." Niklas pulled a pair of pants out of the bag and flung them over the couch. "I… ran into him."

"Well, where is he? Is he on his way?"

"Nein. He said he's happy where he is."

"What?" Conagher fought to keep his voice from breaking. "How could he do that? I mean- we- will it even work if he doesn't come with us?"

The look Niklas gave Conagher was more than enough of an answer. "I don't know."

Conagher sighed. "I'll ask Lawrence when he gets back. Maybe he'll know what to do." After all, the Australian was the one in contact with Miss Pauling, and he was the one who was spearheading the push to get everyone back to Teufort. Surely he had something planned in case someone refused to return, or changed their minds.

But until Lawrence got back with the rest of the team, there was more than enough to do.

Starting with cleaning the refrigerator.

(-)

"Call for you, sir."

Antoine accepted the receiver and pressed it to his ear. "Yes?"

The conversation that followed left Antoine scowling and tempted to fling the phone against the wall. He hated bad news, but he hated it even worse when it made him look like a fool. The latest housekeeper hovered nearby, as if she wasn't sure whether to leave Antoine to stew or make sure he didn't need anything. Finally – and more to get her enormous blue eyes off him than anything else – Antoine motioned her away with a flick of his wrist, smirking at her back as she scurried out the door.

Once he was alone, Antoine stood and paced from one end of the sitting room to the other. It was a bad habit, one he'd fought to break more than once but always gone back to, like a guilty pleasure or a childhood blanket. At least the room was large enough to make the action somewhat enjoyable – twelve paces to the door, then twelve again to the window behind his chair.

Though he'd rather die than show it, the visit with Niklas had left him unsettled. Unlike the rest of the Red team, Antoine had never bothered with the workplace camaraderie that had made the daily act of killing and being killed bearable. But he had to admit, it was, well, nice to see the face of one of the few people he had learned to trust in his lifetime.

Maybe a visit with the rest of them wouldn't be so bad, either.

"No." The word forced itself from Antoine's mouth before he even thought to speak it. The years he'd spent at Teufort felt like they had happened a lifetime ago. And sure, there was still a chance he'd wake up with a bullet sailing at his head or a knife between his ribs, but he had armed guards for that now. Not some hastily-constructed hunk of wires and metal built by a man who was trying to avoid gunfire at the same time.

But just a visit…

Antoine reached the far wall again and gazed through the windows. He could see his reflection, semi-transparent in the glow from the security lights that ringed his property. If he went back, he'd own nothing but the clothes on his back and the weaponry in his locker.

It wasn't until Antoine fully focused on his reflection that he realized he was pulling his coat around his shoulders. Then, before reason and logic could say no, he was yelling for the house keeper to notify the driver to bring the car to the front. Hopefully the man remembered Conagher's address.

Antoine might have had it all, but – and he hated to admit it to himself - he was lonely.

And just a visit wouldn't hurt.

So I had this chapter finished. Uploaded. Published, even. And as I was closing the Word document, the EPIC HARDCORE BAT OF INSPIRATION connected with my forehead. The third part of this chapter was the result. Sorry if it made anything weird happen to your inboxes.

Spy is such an eloquent guy. Maybe that's why I have so much trouble writing him. It's easier for me to write the Engie and Sniper – they're clever, but down-to-earth. I like that.

Thanks for reading! I hope everyone's holidays were as great as mine were – I got to hang out with my awesome family, eat way too much, and spend an entire day doing nothing but gaming and watching Doctor Who and Malcolm in the Middle reruns. It was wonderful. Hope everyone has a fun – and safe – New Years. See you all in 2012!