The Scout had been approaching the bunker when he heard the rocket, and he broke into a run. He swung the door open as the words of his dream ran through his head: What a fate awaits the sharpest shots amongst you. "What's goin' on? I heard a lotta noise like explosions an-"
He stopped suddenly when he saw the Pyro, and simply stared blankly, like he was having a hard time processing what he was seeing. After a moment he gave a halfhearted wave. "Uh, yo, what's up. So… that's what you look like under the mask, huh? Nice to meet ya, I guess, uh…" At that point he realized he wasn't supposed to know her name so he looked at her like he was expecting an introduction.
The Pyro looked at him warily, then glanced at the Sniper. He shrugged slightly, so she just turned back to the Scout. "Joan Gypsy." She hesitantly extended her hand to shake his, and he just went with it.
"Scout Delphi," he said.
Joan laughed a bit. "Your name really is Scout?"
The Bostonian grinned, thankful that the awkward, wary tension had been lifted. The Sniper's cold glare didn't exactly help matters, but he seemed to lighten up a bit at the Pyro's laughter. "Yeah, pretty funny, huh?"
"Scout, why are you up here?" the Australian asked, clearly annoyed.
"Well, funny thing; I was actually coming up here to ask if you knew where the Pyro was."
The Sniper frowned. "What makes you think I'd know where she was if she wasn't here? What am I, her keeper?" The Scout just shrugged, with a knowing, taunting smirk on his face. Mick was unamused.
"Well… here I am," the Pyro said.
"I've been thinking," the Scout said, "and I figured I owed you an apology. Ya know, for all the nasty things I've said to you." It was the Sniper's turn to look rather smug, if only for a fleeting moment. "I was also thinking we – the whole team – could play some baseball some time. You know how to play baseball, right? I can teach ya the basics if ya don't."
Before Joan could answer, Mick spoke up. "Nah, I have a better idea, mate." He grinned. Five minutes later, the Pyro was in the courtyard, trying to airblast baseballs back at the Scout.
Not terribly long after, Mick heard the door open and looked to see who it was. The Pyro strode in, wearing her gas mask, but something seemed off, and the Sniper wasn't quite sure what it was until he noticed the distinct lack of the propane-and-cinnamon smell that tended to follow the Pyro around.
Not letting his suspicion show, he greeted his supposed teammate. "Why don't you take off your mask, mate? You know you're always welcome up here." He didn't move, but he was focusing all his attention directly behind him, waiting for the Spy to come closer and attempt to backstab him. Then he'd retaliate when his foe's defenses were lowered.
The BLU Spy knew he couldn't maintain the disguise convincingly for long. The Sniper's greeting told him that the Pyro took 'his' mask off in front of the Australian, and the Spy couldn't fake what he didn't know. It infuriated him, as well, to know that the Sniper on the opposite team, of all people, knew things that he, the Spy, the one whose job was to uncover hidden information, did not know – had failed to discover! On the other hand, he definitely thought twice about killing the Sniper right off the bat. The Spy, unable to resist the lure of top secret information, wanted to see what he could learn from his enemy. He quietly approached, trying to be as silent with the knife as possible, intending to pin his target down and threaten him until he let the secrets slip. What he wasn't expecting was that the Sniper had already identified him as a Spy and was simply waiting for a chance to retaliate.
Mick spun around, whipping out his kukri and slashing the Spy across the chest. "You're not the real Pyro, ya bloody mimic! You think I'm really that easy to fool?" The disguise dropped instantly.
"Merde!" the Spy hissed, dropping his attempt on his foe's life. He reached for his pistol as he backed away, trying to avoid the massive knife that was being swung at him. It caught him again, across the arm, as he turned to escape. He tore the blinds away from the window and ducked under the boards across the top, escaping onto the thin ledge and pressing himself against the wall so the Sniper couldn't aim at him with the rifle without being exposed to pistol fire. Plan A had failed miserably, but the Frenchman still had Plan B to fall back upon.
"We're a lot alike, Monsieur Mundy! Both professional assassins – oh, non, my mistake; you're more of a crazed gunman, aren't you? My apologies." His only regret was that he couldn't see the look on the Sniper's face. He did, however, hear him going through the contents of one of the crates. This was a good time to jump down, while his opponent was distracted. It was lucky for him that he did, because moments later a submachine gun poked out of the window and started to pepper the area he'd been standing in with bullets.
The Spy just laughed, hiding under the cover of the bridge. "Oh, you may tell yourself you're not – that one is a respectable job and the other is insanity – but surely, a man whose preferred method of making a living is messily shooting people in the head must have something very wrong with him. At least I kill with grace and dignity. Adieu, Monsieur Mundy." He smirked as he cloaked and snuck back into his own base.
The damage was done. The Sniper tried to dismiss these words, to write them off as the Spy being a blowhard, but it wasn't just that simple. Once you put an idea in someone's head, you can't take it back. A good argument to which they have no answer, no matter its source, will haunt them. And that was exactly what the Spy intended.