Winter progressed, as it always did, and it was finally time to move indoors. Sniper had woken up that morning with frost on his breath and on the little curtained window near his shabby bed, and with an ache in his bones. That was the worst part, the ache; it seeped into all his limbs, particularly his right leg, and crept up his back into his shoulders. It made him feel like he'd aged decades overnight, like he was an old man. An older man, at any rate. Visions of tropical flowers and hot sand flitted across his sleepy mind as he shivered under the blanket.

He'd never liked the cold. At all. Sniper had been born and raised in a land of baking heat, and had never even seen snow in person until several years ago. It was beautiful, all that falling white blanketing everything, but the sight of it filled him with dread. And though snow was a rare occurrence in most of the American desert, winter there was still colder than it ever was back home. Sniper mentally kicked himself for not replenishing his bloody yarn supply yet.

Cardboard boxes were scrounged up after work that day, and he swiftly gathered up whatever loose items he felt would be needed into them; the trunks were neatly stacked near the camper's door. Sniper tried very hard not to think about how little space the entirety of his life took up.

Several books, various gun maintenance supplies, a whetting stone, a few items for knitting purposes, Engineer's white noise machine, a wind-up clock, spare aviators. Looks like he'd need just the one box. Aside from that and the communal record player and stack of vinyl he'd been hogging lately, there was only the trunks. Never in a million years would a stranger guess that here stood a wealthy man.

Thinking he'd need all the extra warmth he could get, Sniper piled his lumpy pillow and threadbare blanket on top of the clutter-filled cardboard. He'd take that first, try to get his personal things put away before anybody could snoop. Being winter it was already getting dark; Sniper hoped to be done before night had fully fallen and the temperature dropped exponentially. The last thing he wanted was to go limping about in front of his teammates.

Scooping it up he set off at a quick pace, the halls of the base empty and silent save for a slight clicking echo from his boots; everybody else was in the messhall. Sniper's indoor quarters weren't in the main living area most everyone else had congregated upon, he'd chosen a room a ways around the corner. Sniper would never have been able to stand being in the middle of multiple people like that, all the constant coming and going and noise would've left him a nervous wreck. Even though most of the others only stayed there part-time, having actual homes elsewhere, it still would've been too much.

As if he wouldn't be fidgeting anyway. After all his time out in the wild it took some effort to stay indoors for such long periods of time; the four walls of the room and the further architecture of the base around it could easily feel like part of some great big cage keeping him closed in and trapped if he didn't watch it. Even in this weather he still planned on popping outside for the occasional campfire to lift his spirits and keep that sort of neurotic feeling at bay. He gloomily decided that this was probably another thing he'd have to work on in preparation for retirement.

The door to his RED-provided room loomed, bare save for an empty nameplate slot. Sniper considered leaving it like that, to make it slightly harder for others to find and bother him. He brought a knee up against the door, balancing the cardboard box upon it as he rummaged through his pockets for the key.

"Ah, there you are. The cold finally prove to be too much for you, old man?"

Spy sauntered up with his hands in his pockets, face radiating mildly amused interest. Sniper stood awkwardly with one leg raised up high, hand on the unlocked knob. He eyed both ends of the hallway to make sure they were alone, then shrugged to himself and opened the door. "Like you'd be at all happy out there, ya skinny frog." The box was rehefted and he went inside.

It was a small, basic room. Bed in the corner, a tiny window, a little table and chair with a desklamp on it, bare linoleum floor. RED hired on-the-move mercenaries, not soft little businessmen. There was no luxury to be found here.

"What're ya even doin' here?" The box was dropped on the table with a thump and Sniper dusted off his hands. Worry was never too far off in his mind, still. "Won't the others notice if we're both gone at the same time?"

"What of it? If they care enough to ask, I was helping you move for the winter. That is what friends are for, yes?" Spy smirked.

They walked back and forth between the camper and the room, making small talk as Sniper's possessions were transferred. The two men chatted about the day's battle, their plans for the one the following day, little gossipy observations about their coworkers. Sniper was quietly surprised with himself at how much easier talking to the Frenchman was getting with time. It was a heartening observation.

"I thought you was s'pposed to be helpin' me," Sniper complained, grunting a little as he heaved the last and largest of the trunks towards his room in an ungainly manner. It wasn't the weight so much as the size of the thing; a second pair of arms would've been useful.

"Oh but I am, I am," Spy said. He'd been circling slowly around Sniper whenever he carried something inside; sometimes to the side, sometimes in back, sometimes shuffling facing him in front. He was to the side now, hands still in pockets and nowhere near the trunk. "I am supervising. Mind that corner, it will slip out of your hand at the slightest bump." The Spy gave him a wicked grin.

Sniper rolled his eyes. But the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, too.

Everything was stacked up, the camper van locked and abandoned for now. While the pile was still disconcertingly small, he felt satisfaction at having everything in his room. A trip to the general store this coming weekend and he'd be set till Spring. Sniper hung his hat and bulky vest on a bedpost, and stretched his tired arms with a grunt. Spy nodded and glanced at his watch, surprising Sniper with the knowledge that the thing actually functioned as one, and started for the door.

"I suppose I should be off, there is much to d—"

"Oh! Don't go just yet!"

The words left Sniper's mouth before he realized he'd even thought them. Spy stopped and turned towards him, eyebrows raised in surprise. "…Yes?" Curious expectation was plain on his face.

Sniper's hands fidgeted nervously at his sides. He nearly told Spy to never mind, the two of them should get back to work or eat dinner or something, but his previously loose tongue was suddenly tied. For once, he was secretly glad of that.

"Well, I…we were havin' a nice chat is all, seems a shame t'cut it off so short, y'know?" Sniper rubbed the back of his head, smoothing down his wayward hair awkwardly, eyed dropping down to his boots. "Nice t'talk now an' aga—" He looked up in time to see Spy, in shirt and vest, draping his suit jacket across the back of the chair. For some reason that alone was enough to make his chest twinge. "—in. Oh, crikey," he finished quietly.

"Indeed, talking is an excellent way to pass the time," Spy said lightly, walking back to him and stopping a foot away. "Though sometimes, there are nicer ways. Do you not agree?" The gun-metal blue eyes were watching him carefully.

Adam's apple bobbing and heart pounding hard, Sniper nodded silently. He looked into those steely eyes, their own nervousness not quite hidden, and the corners of his mouth twitched again. Sniper took a small step forward; they were very close now. But he couldn't move any further, he suddenly felt numb and stiff as a statue. Breathing heavily and shakily, he tried to will himself to take the next step. He couldn't. He looked at Spy with helpless embarrassment, then looked away.

And suddenly there was pressure against his body. Sniper's head snapped back with a sharp intake of breath; Spy had closed the gap himself. The Frenchman stood there, up close with his body leaning against Sniper's, his gloved hands placed gently against the man's chest. Spy stood there silently, watching and waiting with a carefully composed expression of expectant calm.

Sniper had begun to flinch at the touch, but stopped. Spy's stance was patient and unmoving, his form even began to feel pleasantly warm against his own. He stood stock-still, taking it all in, eyes darting all over Spy's face and the body against his. Sniper's hands slowly began to rise in jerky movements, until finally they placed themselves on the other man's shoulders, flicking up and down slightly as if he was touching a very hot surface.

That seemed to be alright. Something about the touch made Sniper's heart pound faster, but in a strangely good way. Spy's shoulders were so small, in reality. It was a detail that struck Sniper, and made him grip them a little more firmly. He was still embarrassed, but his mouth tipped over into a toothy half-grin and a strangled chuckle escaped.

Spy smiled back. It still had a smirk-ish quality to it, the Frenchman was clearly amused by his clumsy movements, but he could tell that the man was genuinely pleased. The heart-pounding wasn't enough, Sniper's stomach joined in with an odd fluttery sensation at this. He leaned in, hands leaving the shoulders and working their way down the back. He wrapped his arms stiffly around Spy, everything about his stance unsure and panicked, just barely touching.

He could feel Spy's breath on his neck. Here he was, holding another man. No; here he was, holding somebody that wanted to be held. To be held by him. And he could feel deep down inside that he really did want to hold Spy. Sniper grasped the other man a little tighter. Here he was, holding another man. And the world hadn't ended.

The smile twitchily grew as he touched the side of his head to Spy's. The hands on his chest moved gently. He could feel the soft bumps under the mask where hair cushioned scalp, and the beat of a heart that wasn't his. Sniper grew lost in the moment, worry and fear slowly melting away. Distractedly emboldened, one of his hands moved back up, sliding across the smooth cloth of the balaclava. The large, calloused hand cupped the top of Spy's head affectionately, Sniper leaning his face further into it with eyes closed. His fingers began to unconsciously move; one of them rubbed against the upper edge of the mask's eyehole and pushed it out of place.

The moment ended more quickly than it began. Spy made a strange hissing noise and immediately jerked out of Sniper's shocked grasp, stepping backwards until he was near the door. He looked angry and affronted, his expression laced with fear. Sniper stared at him in confused bewilderment. Then it dawned on him.

"Aw, cripes, mate, I wasn't tryin' to take yer mask off! I just touched it by accident!"

"My mask is integral! It is my life!" Spy hissed, pacing like a cornered animal. "Never touch it like that, never intrude!" He rubbed his arms in agitation.

"I said it was an accident! I know better than to do that!" Sniper said with hands held up placatingly. "I got the mark to prove it," he added, a little bitterly.

That made Spy stop. He took a deep, calming breath, rubbing a hand across his face as he leaned back against the door. "Very important," he muttered.

"I know, I know," Sniper said. "You an' only you take it off, not…me…" His voice trailed off as something occurred to him. "Ya were gonna be takin' yer mask off, right? In a few minutes? …Or…ever?"

The uncomfortable expression on Spy's face as he avoided looking him in the eye caused a sinking feeling to overtake all else inside of Sniper. He'd often wondered about the mask, the curiousity growing tenfold as the two mens' relationship changed and grew, and he had looked forward to the day when it came off. Not just to sate the curiousity, but as a symbol of something else. Now it was quickly looking like that day might never come; like it had never been coming to begin with. Running wildly, blinded by hope, Sniper had just smacked into a wall of a different kind.

"You were gonna leave it on, ya really were," Sniper said in disbelief.

"You have no idea how important it is! Not even mademoiselle saw!"

"So I'm no better than some slip of a sheila, is that it?" His anger flared, and Sniper sat down heavily on the bed. He remembered the infamous photos. Those should've been a tip-off. "Ya don't trust me. Or ya don't think I can handle whatever the hell's out there. Meanin' ya think I'm either a rat or a nance or both. Good t'know."

"You assume! As always! That is not it!"

"That's exactly it! Unless…unless yer just in it fer kicks, just tryin' to get a lay. Unless all this don't really mean anythin' to ya."

Silence.

Spy remained pressed against the door, looking away and saying nothing. Sniper couldn't make heads or tails of his expression, but it wasn't because of it being unreadable as usual. It was a jumble of different emotions fighting for dominance and canceling each other out.

The silence was deafening. Everything Sniper had been feeling before disappeared, his insides feeling like they were cracking and breaking up into little pieces. Without a further word he sagged and crouched down low on the bed, elbows on his knees and bowed head braced in his hands.

After a while, Spy finally spoke up. "I do my best. I give and I wait, again and again," he said, in a tight, controlled voice filled with both sadness and aggravation. "You do not know how much. You take and take and I get nothing. How do I know this will work? How do I know it will end well? For either of us? This is an enormous thing to ask, bushman."

He fell silent, and Sniper stayed looking at the floor. The fresh hollowness inside was pushing whatever emotion was left up into his throat in a little lump, making it hard to swallow.

"I ain't sure I can love without knowin' what I'm lovin'," he said hoarsely.

"You ask for so much. Too much." Spy sounded increasingly vexed, and would probably keep repeating himself until he got agitated enough to leave.

They'd been so, so close to an important breakthrough, and here was yet another stumbling block. Right off of a cliff, if they didn't figure something out. If this all went to hell he'd probably never recover, Sniper thought dully. His insides would be so trampled on and that little pilot light snuffed out so good that it'd never feel worth it to try ever again. Why keep trying if it's just wrenching pain over and over? Emotional could hurt far more than physical ever could.

But Spy was right, dammit, a thought appeared and nagged at him. Sniper had to admit it; he'd kept the other man at arm's length. The Frenchman was snooty, he was sharp-tongued, he could be petty and childish, and for a long time he'd made Sniper's life hell just to suit his own desires. But…then he'd been honest about his feelings, and patient, or at least patientish, and had done all he could to help Sniper in his agonizingly confused state. He could've flounced off in a huff immediately, but he hadn't. And here, when Sniper had finally started to give a little in return, he'd gone and asked for a great deal more at the same time.

He bit his lip, a nervous habit Sniper never seemed able to get rid of. If he wanted them to move forward, he'd have to do better than this. Sniper had assumed that the mere act of acknowledging all…all this between the two of them and about himself had been enough for now, but it was glaringly obvious that it wasn't. Crikey, shootin' guns at scumbags was so much easier.

Well. He knew one thing he could try, though he wasn't sure if it'd be enough. It would've come out sooner or later anyway. He swallowed hard. Time to give and see what happened.

"Here, then." Sniper left the bed, standing up straight with his shoulders squared, like he was bracing himself for something. He wiped his hands on his pant legs absent-mindedly, clearing his throat. Spy watched him curiously.

Hands shaking only slightly, Sniper grasped the temple arms of his trademark aviators. He rarely took them off, even when he was sleeping. Truce periods or not, you never knew when there might be a surprise attack. Years of sleeping out in the open wilderness amongst a plethora of curious and sometimes deadly animals had also done its job. He wanted to be ready. Much like Spy and his mask, Sniper bet that most of the Team had trouble imagining him without his sunglasses obscuring half his face.

The aviators came off, and the world blurred. The frames rattled quietly in his suddenly clumsy fingers, and Sniper closed the pair with a click. He set them on the bed behind. He stood there, looking down at his out-of-focus boots, arms hanging at his sides with nervous fists balled. He waited.

"Wh—"

Spy had started to ask a question, but quickly stopped himself. The room went silent again, and Sniper held his breath. All he could hear was his own heart working overtime. Then there was a light clicking across the bare floor, and he caught a vague glimpse of Spy's expensive shoes gliding by. A small clacking noise, presumably Spy picking up the warm-tinted aviators, and more silence. Further clacks and footsteps.

Ruddy pinstripes filled his vision, and a gloved hand delicately grasped his chin and guided it upwards. Sniper looked up in dread, blinking. Spy regarded him critically, cocking his head in thought, turning Sniper's face this way and that gently, but firmly. The grey-blue eyes eventually locked on Sniper's pale blue eyes, and he let go.

Spy stood with thumbs hooked in his belt, head still held at a thoughtful angle. "A few wrinkles, bags under the eyes…you need some beauty rest, dear convict."

"Yer one to talk."

"Hm." A tiny smile. "Now, the eyes…As…imperfect as they are, I wager that the particular shade of blue therein could perhaps inspire jealousy in our rivals." A wider, warmer smile.

Sniper's face flushed. He was turning red more often than a busted stoplight, lately. "Now yer just makin' fun again!"

"Always you assume! Not everything in life is a joke at your expense, you know," Spy said seriously. His hand cupped Sniper's chin once more, and the smile returned. "They are fine eyes, and I am glad to finally see them clearly."

Hope flickered. Sniper smiled lopsidedly back, and decided to go for broke. "You keep my secret an' I'll keep yours," he said, quietly.

The hand dropped away from his face, and Spy heaved a deep sigh. Sniper's smile disappeared and he gave the Frenchman a worried look. He'd blown it, hadn't he. But Spy merely stood there, fingers drumming on crossed arms. He appeared to be contemplating something, pursing and chewing his own thin lips as Sniper had earlier.

He sighed again, and grasped both of Sniper's arms. "Come here and close those fogged marbles, if you please." Spy looked nervous but determined.

Heart skipping a beat, Sniper did as he was bid. Spy pulled him closer, and he felt movement and pressure in various places as the other man appeared to position himself. He felt Spy's arms raise, and there was a gentle sliding, rumpling sound, like fabric being adjusted.

Hair and flesh pressed against his neck. Sniper sucked in a lungful of air, like he'd been doused with cold water, and his eyes snapped open. A head of moderately wavy black hair, smoothed back and flattened by prolonged balaclava coverage, presented itself. Spy was leaning against Sniper as he had before, this time with bared head laying against his neck and under his chin.

Sniper instinctively twitched, wanting a better look. Immediately Spy's voice sharply sounded, slightly muffled.

"Do not look down, if you know what is good for you, bushman."

Delighted regardless, Sniper touched his chin to the hair, his hands unconsciously gripping Spy's slender shoulders as before. "Yer hair's all…all soft, an' pretty smellin'."

"Pre—pretty? Pretty?" Spy sounded indignant. "It is merely pride in hygiene and presentation! Were you expecting bristly, rough patches of smelly hide, like one of your wild pigs?"

"Aw, put a sock in it," Sniper said. He closed his eyes.

Further indignation began to issue from Spy, but halted when Sniper buried his nose in the man's hair and slowly inhaled. So this was what it was like to be intoxicated by another's smell. A cocktail of warm, pleasing scents filled Sniper's air passages; shampoo and hair product and aftershave and the strange spice of Spy's cigarettes. One of Sniper's arms wrapped itself around Spy's thin frame, the other slid up and cradled the back of his head, fingers exploring and smoothing back the soft hair.

After a while Spy's hands slid across Sniper's chest and hooked themselves under his arms to grasp at his back. Sniper felt them rest upon his shoulderblades, and he held Spy tighter. The Australian was surprised at just how thin and boney the Spy really was; he had no spare flesh on him whatsoever. The suit was good at hiding most of it. He felt almost fragile in the larger man's arms, like something would snap if he squeezed too hard. He squeezed anyway.

A small piece of Sniper was standing back and watching this transpire, numb with shock and confused. He was truly enjoying this, wasn't he. There was none of the stiff awkwardness of the earlier attempt, none of the fear that had been plaguing him for so long. He was holding someone that wanted to be held, feeling their warmth and presence, resting his head on theirs and breathing them in.

Instead of his heart exploding from anxiety, he actually felt calmer. He felt…well, he wasn't quite sure what he felt, still, but it was better than he had in a long, long time. That pilot light was flickering and growing, and the world still hadn't ended. He'd opened his eyes to gaze down at the wavy black, to memorize it, but his eyes had stung and he'd blinked furiously for some reason. He left them shut.

The two of them stood like that for a long time, silent and unmoving. Neither one complained.

.

Sniper awoke at the crack of dawn, his internal clock accurate as always. The room was a dark grey, slivers of light peeking through the blinds. He realized he was alone in the bed; the spot next to him cold, probably for some time. Spy's suit jacket was gone from the chair.

Last night had ended on another heart-thumping note, with Spy ordering him to keep his eyes closed and flicking the light switch off. The calm feeling had vanished, quickly replaced by panic and insecurity, but he was just as quickly reassured. They'd spent the night together again, doing nothing more than sleep side-by-side. Only instead of slumping on crates fully-dressed, they'd shared a bed in their underclothes.

It had definitely been an experience. The bed was made for one person, and was barely long enough for Sniper, who'd had to press himself flat against the wall to make room for Spy. His feet kept poking out over the edge as a result, and Sniper had left his socks on to keep them from getting cold. Spy had sniggered until he'd snorted. That had actually amused Sniper in turn, rather than embarrassed him. There was a growing fondness for that oh so very undignified laughter.

It was a night of awkward spooning, elbows and knees in the wrong spots, snoring, hair in the face. And yet, it was still one of the best nights Sniper had had in years. It was thrilling and soothing at the same time, having someone willingly next to you and brushing against you, keeping you warm in the dead of night. He'd started awake several times, momentarily alarmed that there was some strange man lying next to him, wondering what the hell he was doing. It spoke all too strongly of just how much time Sniper had spent sleeping alone in his life. Then the moment would pass, and he'd drift back to sleep. Things kept looking brighter and brighter.

Spy had woken up first, and quickly left without a trace left behind. Sniper assumed it was so nobody would catch him leaving the Australian's room and ask piercing questions. Despite the risk, Sniper found himself longing for it to last the whole night through at some point.

He still hadn't seen Spy's face. Just his hair, and vague outlines in the pitch darkness of the night. But Sniper knew he'd already seen more than probably just about anybody else had for years, and considered himself lucky. It had been a doozy of a step taken, for the both of them, and the future felt promising.

He busied himself with morning routine, carefully making his bed and preparing his clothes and weaponry for the day's work. He eventually heard distant door creaks and murmurs; the rest of RED had risen and was heading for the showers. Sniper grabbed his bundle of clothing and unlocked the door, padding quickly across the cold floor.

Several of the other mercenaries were milling around, lining up for their morning rituals and grunting hellos and idle chitchat at each other. Scout was hopping around like a bird, clad only in boxers almost too big for him; the Heavy was draped in a surprisingly luxurious-looking robe, standing patiently with half of one large hand tucked in its pocket, talking to Medic and Engineer. Pyro and Spy were nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, hey there Stretch!" The Engineer broke off from his conversation to greet Sniper, nodding his stubble-covered head politely. "Didn't see y'all last night, but here y'are now. All moved in for the winter, eh?"

Sniper smiled back. "Yeh, time t'put up with yer ugly mugs fer a few months. Wish me luck."

"Aheh! You're gonna need it!" Engineer let loose a wheezy chuckle, then turned to the bobbing Scout. "Boy! Stop fidgetin' already, will you? It's too early for puttin' up with your monkey jumpin'!"

"I gotta limber up, Hardhat, lemme alone!"

The door to the showers opened, and a fully-dressed and groomed Spy exited. He nodded to the REDs closest to the entrance, then swiftly marched off without another word or second glance. The Frenchman having finished, everybody else started filing into a line and making for their morning dose of hot, refreshing water.

"Y'know, you're lookin' a lot more relaxed already," the Texan said conversationally as they moved up.

Sniper had watched Spy leave out of the corner of his eye, and blinkingly refocused on Engineer. "Hm?"

"You look like you've been gettin' more sleep an' less stress! The noise machine's been helpin', yeah?"

"Oh! …Yeah. Yeah, that's it exactly." Sniper smiled lopsidedly at him.